


Ars Moriendi

by twocentnuisance



Series: Zootopia Omnibus [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fear, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Murder, Murder Mystery, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism, Romance, Scents & Smells, Slice of Life sometimes, Slow Burn Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twocentnuisance/pseuds/twocentnuisance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cities are like oceans. Vast and teeming with life and mysteries. Everything is visible towards the surface. The deeper you go, the stranger, and more dangerous, things become. And something awful has stirred in the dark and cold depths of Zootopia. It is hungry for blood.<br/>It has been several months since former mayor Dawn Bellwether's arrest, and Officers Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde have risen to the challenge of keeping the city from falling apart. Despite the bright outlook promised at stopping the savage predator plot, speciesism, both unlawful and lawful, continues to further divide the populace. Fear, as it turns out, has not loosened its stranglehold on the city. It has only tightened its grip. And this fear has kicked awake something monstrous.<br/>When a new, and frankly odd, murder case falls into their laps, the duo jump headlong into the case. Before long, the pair realize that their murder investigation reaches far beyond the victim, and will have deadly ramifications for the city and for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Early bird gets the worm

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> So, i'm entirely new to this fandom and fan fiction in general. Watched the movie, loved it, read some truly great writings, ideas came bubbling up to the surface, and here we are. 
> 
> I've got big plans for this story and the ones that will subsequently follow it, and i hope that at the very least, you find some enjoyment from the whole shebang. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The sun was rising to dispel away the night and its terrors.

 

Morning had just begun spreading its new light over the city. Bright red and orange rays began to touch the tops of the skyscrapers. The light made its way down the skyline, and into countless windows and onto many sleeping faces. One face, not sleeping in the early morning, met the rays head on through the window with bloodshot eyes. The gazelle had barely gotten any sleep. What sleep that did come was awful, tumultuous, filled with terrors. She woke up several times, ready to scream, thinking a tall shadow was standing in the corner of her room, eyes, teeth, and claws shining. But every time the lights came on, she was alone in her apartment.

 

Already? The sun’s coming up already? She groaned and gave up on the pursuit of soothing sleep. It was pointless.

 

The gazelle rolled out of bed, and went to make breakfast. She got to the kitchen. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. Probably a whole 24 hours since she had anything that could constitute as a meal. She looked to her small kitchen table. She always left it empty at the end of each day, a blank canvas to be filled with food, work, and anything else.

 

This morning there was something on her kitchen table. Something that was not there when she had cleaned it off last night before trying to sleep. A cut of thin red ribbon, unspooled and laying haphazard, and a small white business card. She picked up the business card, and knew what it was, who it represented, and what it meant for her before the smell of myrrh entered her nose and made her stomach upheave in nausea. Their ‘business cards’ always smelled of myrrh. An offset white coloring, slightly more thickness than printer paper but still flexible. A singular black coffin from a top down perspective, small, detailed, and centered on the card’s face. The edges of the lid were outlined in white to highlight depth. She flipped the card over. In plain text was printed, again centermost:

 

Last warning.

C.C.

 

They had come into her home, left this here in the night. They now knew where she lived. She felt tears beginning to well and start running down her slim face. Even her own body’s mechanisms were desperate to escape this hell.

 

A sound murmured from her bedroom. The gazelle screamed when she heard it. It emanated again, and she knew what it was. Her phone was vibrating in alert, and she had a new text. She opened it, read it, reread it, and quickly got dressed. The gazelle now had somewhere to be. But truly, anywhere was better than here. She began, as she walked out the door, praying to any god that listened, praying that her contact had a way out of this nightmare.

 

The text had read, ‘Meet me at Bright N Early coffee house, 7:30. We need to talk. I can’t do this anymore. I’m at the end of my rope and we need a way out of this.”

 

~

 

Nick Wilde was proud of the talents he had acquired throughout his life. Quick tongue, calm exterior, privy business mindset, gorgeous coat, and good judge of character, to name a few. In assessing the countless individuals he had met, memorized, then either scammed or made good with, he took into account of number of the bodily facets that cued him into them as mammals without needing them to say a word. When the words did come, eventually, he would’ve built a reliable, working framework with how to address each individual.

 

He looked across the street while he waited for Judy to pick up their morning coffees. He spotted a sheep engaging with an anteater. By Nick’s assessment, the pair were engaged in business. The sun was still on its ascension into the sky, and in this city, business is a 24/7/365 happening. The sheep wasn’t putting up a convincing front. Eyes glancing around, signaling a desire to be anywhere but there. Hooves working over themselves. He was unsure of his position, of where he stands in the deal. Slouched forward, making apologizing hunched movements. Not convincing. If he was trying to sell or even repair, the anteater would have to be blind to look past it all. His raised eyebrows and folded arms conveyed as such.

 

The driver’s side door of the cruiser opened, and Judy Hopps bounced off the now open door and into the driver’s seat. She did so while balancing a cup of coffee in each hand. Never failed to impress.

 

“Nice balance there, Carrots. Ever consider quitting the force and joining a circus troupe?” He grinned at her.

 

She grinned right back. “Who knows, I might. Didn’t you say you were in one? You could certainly fit the bill for being a clown.”

 

“You wound me, Fluff,” Nick said in mock offense. He thought for a moment before saying, “Although, if, and only if, I was once a part of a traveling circus troupe, I would most definitely be the ring leader.”

 

He took a sip of his coffee and looked back to his partner, a slow grin starting to form. “Carrots, would you be as so kind?”

 

Judy recognized the almost singsong tone, and turned to him. “What is it now?”

 

Nick swirled his coffee in front of her. “You ordered two black coffees, one with Blueberry and one with hazelnut. Butttt I can just barely taste the blueberry underneath all this bitterness. You know how I like my coffee. I prefer it on the sweeter side.”

 

Judy’s face lit up in understanding. “Ah, shoot I forgot to bring the creamer and sugar.” She actually looked disappointed with herself, bless her. “Do I have to go out and get it? It’s really hot here.” She gave him wide eyes, let hear ears fall back behind her, and pouted.

 

Nick felt his resolve momentarily falter. Damn, she could make a cute face. Not that he would ever dare say that to her. Cute as she was, verbally expressing the word ‘cute’ to Judy Hopps never netted anyone positive results. Although he was working on slowly introducing the word to her.

 

“Nice try, Officer Fluff,” he said, smiling wide, “but, it is your turn today to get morning run coffees. Also, hot is par for the course in Savannah Square. Best get used to it.” He continued to smile in victory.

 

Judy made to argue, but she just stared at him, transfixed at something, before abruptly spinning around and jumping back out of the cruiser. Nick noted the odd sequence of actions and tucked it away for later examination.

 

He watched her walk back to the Bright N Early coffee house. More specifically, he watched her tail, a bright white cotton tuft of fur, hypnotically sway back and forth as she walked.

 

Good God, did it sway in such an enticing manner.

 

Now there was a strong mammal. She always walked upright, small chest slightly out, head held high. When Judy talked to any one, she made and held eye contact. Her tone was assured, confident, and positive. There was not a drop of snake oil to be discerned in her voice. To anyone her size or smaller, she was kind, a little quiet, and listened, rarely interrupting. To anyone bigger, her voice carried well into a deeper octave without sounding forced and she could interject into a conversation that you couldn’t even call it interrupting. As if at anytime, she could start talking and the larger mammal in question would almost always immediately stop.

 

He watched her, and her cottontail, and her butt (just a glimpse . . . okay more than one glimpse), disappear into the coffee shop.

 

He leaned back, heart going a little faster than before, mouth slightly dry. No harm in observing, he thought. He had plenty of . . . acquaintances, he could call them . . . that were very easy on the eyes. And he never once felt bad about admiring their physical qualities. Or doing much more than admiring.

 

But lately, he had felt something else, something that he knows is concerning, but partly out of fear and partly because he’s Nick Wilde and doesn’t let the small stuff get to him, he consciously makes the effort to not examine the source of this something. But again, Nick Wilde has begun _noticing_ Judy Hopps a little more than usual.

 

And to him, Judy is far more than an acquaintance. She is his partner and his best friend, genuinely and wholly, and he can’t recall the last time he’s had someone like her in his life. The thought of her departing from his life . . . he tries not to even humor the idea. Nick has begun to suspect that this something has very sharp and dangerous designs if he further examines it.

 

This something, he feels preemptively, needs to be kept under lock and key. Because while it’s fine and dandy to be noticing that your partner is looking really good these days, that’s a dangerous and uncharted rabbit hole to willingly let yourself fall into.

 

Nick stopped thinking, and chuckles once. Rabbit hole. He was already thinking of several ways to make a crude rabbit vagina joke to Judy the first chance he got.

 

~

 

Judy was out of the squad car before she knew it and walking to get creamer and sugar packs. Her head was buzzing, so much so that she tried focusing her breathing to stop it. It felt like a strong caffeine buzz, and she had only one sip of her coffee today.

 

Right now, in the uncomfortable heat that was Sahara Square, her head was buzzing about her partner, Nick Wilde. Her mind’s eye was focused on his teeth.

 

Holyyyy shit. Those _teeth_.

 

Judy felt the heat flow up through the columns of her ears, swallowed, exhaled, and focused on her task. She entered back into the coffee house and went to the concession stand, grabbing a few sugar packs and creamers.

 

She walked back outside, back into the light of the sun made all the worse by Sahara Square’s climate control system. She glimpsed Nick in the squad car, gazing out in the other direction.

 

Nick Wilde was an incredible amount of things. He was a former conman turned police officer, a smartass (now and probably forever) and yet incredibly savvy in his social interactions, and a fox and a predator. And as of six months ago, he had graduated from the academy, been assigned to precinct one, and was Judy’s partner on the force, and her closet friend. When she said she trusted him with her life, she damn well meant it.

 

And for some reason, when he smiled at her, something deep in her brain kicked on, firing on all cylinders. And just like that, she was out of the vehicle and walking. And her mind was on the very white and very sharp looking canines of her partner.

 

Getting closer to the squad car, Judy thought to herself, ‘are you seriously afraid of him? Is that what that was? Back to square one with Nick? No, no I don’t think so. You know how he moves, how he acts, how he smells and sounds. You know him. I am not afraid of Nick Wilde.’ Although it had taken a while to get used to the smell of a fox and the one time she had heard him growl sent all of her hair standing on end. It had only been once, and she was sure if he did it again, she would likely have the same ‘scared bunny’ reaction.

 

But, for the most part, she had fully acclimated herself to a rabbit’s natural predator.

 

She was satisfied with this little pep talk as she hopped up into the cruiser. She immediately inhaled Nick, felt the scent fill her nose and seep into the very bottom of her lungs. She would never tell him, but underneath the very heavy and very heady scent of his musk, Nick also smelled like violets.

 

It made her smile. “Here,” she said, handing him the sugars and creamers, “happy?”

 

“When I’m with you? Always.” He said immediately. In under a second, he quickly added “Almost always.” And grinned again. Nick didn’t know why, but he felt a slight heat in his cheeks, and was relieved for his fur’s color.

 

Judy turned to face the windshield, hoping her ever widening smile wasn’t too obvious.

 

‘See? How on earth could you be afraid of him?’ She sneaks a quick glance back over at him, sees him smiling as he laces his coffee to be decidedly more sweet than actual sugarcane.

 

But boy, those teeth are something . . . exciting, she thought.

 

~

 

The gazelle felt her heart drop a little further into her stomach as the police cruiser departed from the street in front of the coffee house. Even if one was a fox - unfuckinbelievable they actually allowed one to become a police officer - some police presence – any police presence – had started to put her at real ease. With them around, she felt enormously safer. Safer than she had been feeling for months.

 

Her coffee was served. The gazelle almost jumped when the waiter returned to her table and presented her drink and croissant from her side. She was seated at one of the several outdoor tables outside the coffee house Bright N Early. “Here you are, ma’am,” he said. He was a cat of some sort, and smelled strongly of musk, damp, strong, and unpleasant. The heat wasn’t doing him any favors. The gazelle frowned and said nothing, taking the cup, hoping that the cat had not made her drink too. She had ordered a coffee, large, black, no sugar. The way her life was going, she was going to need every drop of caffeine and them some.

 

The café was packed. Individuals, couples, families moved about her, getting tables and placing orders. Kits were chirping and screaming around the adults, chasing and yelling after one another. She thought that this would only push her anxiety further through the roof, but to her welcomed surprise, the presence of the crowd calmed her. Cops or not, anybody was better than nobody.

 

She looked at her order. Tall, solid white cup with a solid white lid. Written on the side was ‘Marcy’ in cursive calligraphy. She had been to this café dozens of times, yet she had never seen handwriting so neat from any of the baristas. Any other day she would have considered keeping the cup on account of how gorgeous the penmanship was. Today, it just struck her as pleasant. An unpleasant thought crossed her mind of her cat waiter having written it.

 

She took a sip of the coffee, and immediately regretted it. A little too hot and . . . incredibly bitter. Almost metallic. She grimaced and checked her phone.

 

It was 7:49 AM. No new messages. Her stomach sank further. They had agreed to meet at 7:30. She gnawed lightly on her hoof, before pocketing her phone and picking up her drink again.

 

She swirled the cup, hoping that the action would somehow dissipate the overwhelming bitterness to the coffee. Was this a sign that she needed to start adding more sugar? Even creamer?

 

With the several ulcers that are likely forming in my stomach, she thought, I should probably stick to just drinking what I’ve got.

 

She sipped again, and gagged. The coffee had cooled, but the taste . . . what in the actual fuck was wrong with the taste?? It was now beyond metallic, it was . . . vile? Had the coffee spoiled? Could coffee spoil?

 

Marcy popped open the lid to look at her order, hoping a visual inspection would cue her into what was wrong with her order. It did.

 

Just beneath the surface of the coffee, a tiny pair of bloodshot eyes stared back at her. Marcy didn’t feel her mouth drop open, didn’t register much of anything except that she couldn’t breath, couldn’t find the will to inhale. All she could see was the head of a squirrel, gazing back up at her, mimicking her agape expression, eyes wide and mutated in a grotesque fashion. A thin miasma of red blood, almost as dark as the coffee, ghosted from his open mouth, and mixed into the blackness of her coffee.

 

After several choked inhalations, Marcy Kelt found her voice and started screaming.

 

The sun had fully risen, and it had brought the terrors to light.


	2. The first of many

“Sweet Saint Marian, did we just miss it?” Nick asked aloud as they sped back around towards the previous destination. It had taken both he and Judy a few seconds to process that the scene a body was found at was where they had just picked up their morning coffees.

 

Judy shook her head, not at his question but at herself, at the situation they were driving to, biting her lip. What was on her mind was likely the same as Nick’s. One of many terrible scenarios that any officer feared. That they had missed a murder occur right under their noses, right in the presence of the ZPD.

 

Nick and Judy were the second pair of officers to arrive back at Bright N Early. Officers Fangmeyer and Grizzoli had arrived first, receiving the call from dispatch that a body had been found at the coffee house. They had secured the scene, a spilled coffee cup on top of a small outdoor table. Something was sticking out of it, looking like a dirty brown dishrag.

 

Fangmeyer waved them over. “So this is, uh . . .” he paused, trying to find the right words, “yeah, this is definitely a strange one. Hopps, could you go over and talk to the doe who found the guy? Get her statement?” he nodded over to a gazelle standing next to the caution tape. She looked like a ghost, blank eyes and thin as a rail. Even past her fur she seemed to be turning a shade of white. 

 

Judy nodded and looked around. “Uhm, sorry, but where is the body?” Fangmeyer and Grizzoli paused, looking to each other as if needing confirmation from the other to say it aloud. Before they could, Nick began sniffing the air, drawing all three other officer’s attention.

 

Mammals we selected into the ZPD on account of their capabilities and skills. Judy had the best hearing on the force, to the point where it was almost a talk of legend. She knew this because she could hear anytime another officer was talking about her otherworldly hearing and trying to keep the conversation private.

 

Nick had two skills to compliment hers. His own incredible sense of smell, rivaled only by the wolves on the force, and his natural night vision. So it made sense that from the moment he stepped out of the squad car, he faintly detected the smell of blood and singed hair and something else.

 

In a moment, his nose pointed him towards the coffee cup. “Oh,” was all he said in sudden recognition. He immediately leaned towards Judy’s ear. “So, brace yourself, because I found our body.” She nodded. “There’s a dead squirrel over there in a spilled coffee cup. I’m thinking he’s soaked in an Ethiopian dark roast.”

 

Judy stiffened, but kept her composure. She nodded curtly once, asking “Did you guys call in the M.E?” Officer Grizzoli nodded, “Yup, doc’s on her way over.” Should be here in five.” Judy nodded, and made to walk over to the gazelle. Nick went to join her before Fangmeyer pulled him aside. “Yeah, you’re probably going to want to let her solo this one, Nick.” He looked at the tigress in mild confusion. “Reason being?” he asked. “She didn’t want to say anything to either a polar bear or a tiger,” was her curt response.

 

Nick immediately understood, nodded once, and took up rank with the tiger and polar bear officers in keeping the growing crowd back.

 

Judy approached the gazelle, who was fixated on the small corpse in the spilled coffee cup.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Judy asked, getting her attention, “My name is Officer Hopps, I’m with the ZPD. May I ask –“ Judy paused, thinking, before asking, “Are you okay, miss?”

 

The gazelle turned and looked at her for a moment too long. Judy went to say something else, anything to break the uncomfortable stare the gazelle was giving her, but the gazelle beat her to it.

 

“I drank his blood. I was drinking him. He was – I think he was dissolving into my coffee,” she choked out.

 

Judy felt something rise in the back of her throat. Fear, panic, a lick of bile. She suppressed the urge to gag.

 

“I’m – I’m sorry, miss . . .”

 

“Marcy.” Judy wrote her name down, asking, “and if I can get your last name?”

 

“Lang,” was the response.

 

“Okay, Marcy, may I ask you a few questions?” The gazelle shrugged, staring at the rabbit with an uncomfortable, unwavering gaze.

 

“Can you walk me through what happened her? Please tell me anything you think that was odd, or seemed out of place before you found the deceased?”

 

The gazelle sneered, actually sneered. “Odd? You want to know what was fuckin odd? What’s odd was that I was drinking someone’s blood! Like some goddamn savage.” Marcy looked over to the other three officers, who were keeping the crowd at a reasonable distance. Nick was welcoming the medical examiner, how had just arrived. Even from the distance, and the background noise, Judy picked up their entire conversation.

 

“Dr. Kaufman, looking lovely as usual.”

 

The porcupine quipped back, smiling, “Save your flattery, Wilde. You know I’m a sucker for it.”

 

Nick pretended to be taken aback. “Flattery? My dear doctor, all of my compliments come from the heart. Can’t I comment on a beautiful lady in passing?”

 

“I suppose nothing’s stopping you. But if you keep making fresh comments at a lady my age, I’ll quill you, dear. ”

 

“Noted,” Nick smiled. Judy had to hand it to him. She had never met someone with such mammal skills. And for porcupines, who typically were not called anything in the realm of ‘shapely’ or ‘easy on the eyes’, Nick’s gentle flirting had him in good graces with the ZPD’s chief medical examiner.

 

“Now,” the porcupine noted, turning towards the large vacant space surround the coffee house, “point me in the direction of the deceased, Officer Wilde.” He did, and the porcupine made her way, with two CSI technicians following a few, safe feet behind her. Judy returned her attention to the gazelle.

 

The gazelle was still looking at Nick. “He’s smiling,” she mused out loud, “I wonder if he thinks this is funny. Prey drinks prey. I’ll bet they’ll get a kick out of that one at the water cooler.”

 

“I can assure you, miss, no one thinks this is funny,” Judy said in a forced, patient tone. She was beginning to feel a creeping unease move through her the more they talked.

 

“Doubtful,” the gazelle responded. “Bet those preds wished it was them that drank my coffee.”

 

“Ma’am, again, no one on the ZPD thinks this is a trivial matter, let alone one you can laugh –“

 

The gazelle kept going, as if she couldn’t hear the rabbit. “I think that fox just whispered to the tiger how lucky I am getting to taste fresh blood.”

 

And that does it for Judy. “Ma’am, please. I need you to tell me everything _relevant_ to how you found the deceased in your cup.” She tries, and partially fails, to keep the edge out of her voice. Judy wanted to say a lot more than recited police rhetoric, like telling her she can go fuck herself for her blatant speciesism, and that she should be lucky that all of the officers are there to help her, and that those ‘preds’ were her colleagues and officers of the law, and many other angry thoughts buzzing around in her head.

 

Marcy stared at her, almost looking uninterested in her. “I showed up because I couldn’t sleep. Wanted coffee. Ordered coffee. Sipped my coffee. Too hot. Waited till it cooled. Sipped again. Noticed it tasted bad. Opened the lid, lost a few decades off my lifespan. Tomorrow I’m sure my hair will be a lovely shade of grey.” She stopped talking and crossed her arms, now glaring at Judy, who was pained to actually write all of this down.

 

“Did you know the deceased?”

 

“No,” was the immediate answer.

 

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary before you looked into your coffee?”

 

Marcy snorted. “Not unless you count the bazillion screaming kits running around, no.”

 

“Is there anything else you can think of that would help this investigation?” Judy worked hard to make it sound too strained, but again, partially failed. She knew where this was going, and it was going to end in three, two,

 

“Nope. Can I go?” One.

 

“Of course. If anything else comes to mind, please –“ But Judy stopped talking, watching the back of the gazelle disappear into the crowd.

 

Never before had Judy wanted to call a bystander, let alone one that found a mammal’s body, a bitch. Even if the species didn’t fit, the attitude certainly did.

 

She walked back over the table. The CSI techs were busy taking photos and measurements of the deceased. The crowd had diminished considerably, with Fangmeyer keeping the few pockets in control, and Officer Grizzoli had started taking statements.

 

Judy walked over to the doctor, who with gloved paws, had begun delicately examining the matted and coffee soaked body of the grey squirrel.

 

“So . . . “ was all Judy could start with. In her time on the force, both she and Nick had been to summoned six murder scenes. The first two were the worst, because they were the first time Judy had come face to face with death unbecoming. After that, she had gotten ‘used’ to the bodies, as ‘used’ to death as any other officer on the force could. Meaning that externally she could keep her cool. Internally it was hell. And sometimes, she had nightmares that robbed entire nights of sleep.

 

What she had not gotten used to, and feared she likely never would get used to, was the blood. The smell. The color. The ways it ran from a body in streams and splatters, as if trying to escape the horrors that had befallen it. In front of the other officers, in front of Nick, she could take it. Pretend like it didn't phase her in the slightest. But inside, she would turn into a panicked mess. She'd suddenly become acutely aware of the smell of predators, the smell of death, and the reptile portion of her brain would kick on, firing octane adrenaline into her system, screaming 'run run they have killed will hunt you down open you eat you.' 

 

Again, thankful that this wasn't a messy crime scene. 

 

“This is definitely one for the books,” Doctor Kaufman started, bringing Judy back to the here and now.

 

“Got a good headline already attached to it?” Judy asked.

 

Kaufman released a breath of air. “Yeah,” she surmised, “First time I’ve seen something like this. And I’ve seen a great deal of drownings. But, case in point, I don’t think that’s exactly what killed our squirrel.” The porcupine looked down her glasses at Judy. “You wouldn’t happen to know the temperature they pour fresh coffee at, would you?”

 

“Just below boiling, at around two hundred degrees Fahrenheit,” Nick answered, coming up next to Judy. “So, almost boiling.”

 

“That would better explain why I couldn’t get a look down his throat,” Dr. Kaufman said. “Swollen and burned shut. The tissue has likely fused from the heat. And judging from the streaks of pulled fur and lacerations on his neck, I think it’s sound to venture he was conscious when he was submerged. Trying to breath against the body’s swelling.”

 

“You think he was alive when he went in?”

 

Dr. Kaufman held up the coffee lid to the pair, turning it so the underside faced them. “I do.” Even against the white coloring, the lines were abundant and clear.

 

“Oh God,” Nick muttered. “He tried to claw his way out.” The squirrel had desperately clawed erratically across the underside of the lid, no doubt in sheer desperation. Despite being avid climbers, squirrel claws were not known for their sharpness.

 

“Couldn’t he have just lifted the lid?” Judy asked aloud. “At least popped it partially open to try and get out?”

 

“He may have been able to,” Dr. Kaufman said, now reexamining the lid for any further indicators.

 

Nick was reserved in his tone when he suggested, “unless someone put him in here and held the lid down.”

 

They were silent for a few moments.

 

“How long do you think it would have taken for him to die?” Judy asked.

 

The porcupine’s face pinched in calculation. “Under normal drowning circumstances, he would have been conscious and active for about fifteen, twenty, maybe thirty five seconds if he went in holding his breath. And that’s assuming that there was at least half an inch of room at the surface to breath at. But, he was submerged into scalding hot water all at once, had the lid clamped over him so there was no way he could escape. The sheer heat of the water would have immediately seared his eyes, blinding him and begun sealing his throat shut. At a rodent’s size, all forces of the world are that much more dangerous to you.” She paused, still thinking. “If that was how he went, pain-induced shock would have set in within maybe ten seconds. From there, he would have been as good as dead at fifteen seconds.”

 

“Alright, then we are now treating this as a murder case,” Nick said. “Doctor, you’ll let us know if anything noteworthy pops up down the line?”

 

“Of course,” The doctor turned away and resumed her on site examination. Nick and Judy started for the cruiser.

 

“You went and talked with the owners and staff?” Judy asked him, mind beginning to try and establish a framework.

 

“Yup, didn’t get anything out of the ordinary from anyone. Bewildered, shocked mammals, the lot of them. Said she’s been a regular here for a few years now. Didn’t know of any squirrels that were frequent fliers.”

 

“Good start to this case,” Judy murmured. Nick muttered his agreement. IF there had been anything out of the ordinary with the staff, then they had a lead. And Judy trusted Nick’s judge of character. If he was readily admitting that no one gave off an odd vibe, then there likely weren’t any leads at the coffee shop. The squirrel had no ID on him, so that end would take at least a day if the planets were aligned. Although Grizzoli had started with statements, they were doubtful anything useful would turn up. From opening to around ten AM, the coffee house was packed. Plenty of idled conversation, laughter, kits screaming, machines hissing, and other ambient noise to drown out any genuine screams the squirrel may have been able to make. If someone had heard something, the officers would have heard about it by now. They were, momentarily, dead in the water.

 

Both knew it, and going forward, Nick said, “Tell me about our sole witness, the gazelle.”

 

Judy huffed. “Marcy Lang. Just ordered her drink, noticed it tasted funny, opened it and nearly passed out. Didn’t know the deceased.”

 

“Did you happen to catch a skip in her heartbeat?” Nicked asked. They had once found a lead that solved a case because Judy had heard a suspect’s heart rate go from zero to a hundred at the drop of a question. Of course, the trick was very temperamental. It worked best in heavily controlled conditions, like the quiet questioning rooms at the ZPD. Out in the field, it was really a lucky stab in the dark at anything more than a hunch against the constant and varying cacophony of noise that was the city. Still, a tool is a tool. If the hammer is only good at hammering in nails, do you throw it away because it is not multipurpose?

 

“Nah. Her heart was running fast the entire time. Likely still had the daylights scared right out of her.”

 

“Yeah, not everyday you wake up to find a body in your cup,” was Nick’s comment on the matter. Judy gave his face a quick glance. Per the usual, he was wearing his trademark ‘never let them see that they get to you’ face. Meaning, he was deep in thought. Meaning she could’ve have read anything from it if her life depended on it. “Oh,” she added, “she was outwardly racist, she had some choice things to say about you, Fangmeyer, and Grizzoli.”

 

Nick grinned wide. “Damn, would’ve loved to have been the one to have gotten her statement. She said I was devilishly handsome, didn’t she?”

 

“She left out the handsome part. Although the ‘devilish’ descriptive fits.”

 

He smiled at her, the points of his teeth just visible. “You think?” He gave her a playful and light eyebrow waggle.

 

Judy smiled back at him, a little in spite of herself, and elbowed him to stop the eyebrow waggling. “I do.”

 

Nick Wilde, fur the color of live flame, head full of shining razors and two vulpine emeralds.

 

Handsome devil.

 

~

 

Across the way, on the other side of the road from the Bright N Early Coffee house, sat the mammal who had just finished committing the first of many murders to come. He sat on the fringe of a small park, on a public bench, newspaper at his side, watching the ZPD handle the scene. He watched the gazelle disappear back into the crowds, likely heading back to her apartment. The mammal made a quick call to update the situation, and knowing it would be smart to wait a little, opened the paper, started to read, and sipped his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have a body and a killer. This chapter felt a little slow and a little uneventful for my tastes, but that's okay. What's a house without a foundation? Besides, it only gets better from here on out. Apologies for any glaring grammar errors you likely will find. Again, thank you for reading. Comments and criticisms are welcomed!


	3. Everybody is a book of blood

Marcy Kelt began dry heaving into the toilet. At first, only hot air came up. Then came the vomit. After several convulsions, Marcy opened her eyes. Her bile had a slight red tint to it.

 

She immediately vomited again, this time nothing but a raw and unhealthy looking yellow bile came up.

 

Back at her apartment, which she had arrived to on autopilot, she unlocked the door and went straight into her bathroom. If there was a God, or a pantheon of them, he/they were undoubtedly cruel and laughing till their sides ached at her situation. She was their clown, their Greek fuckin tragedy, for three reasons.

 

One. They were laughing because she was a prey mammal that had drank another’s blood and no doubt a little bit of dissolved squirrel.

 

Two. They were laughing because she was absolutely fucked. There was no clear way out of this now. Marcy Kelt knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was absolutely fucked.

 

And three. They were laughing because of all the cops in this goddamn city, it had been _them_ that had arrived to see her. That was almost comical, even to her. Almost. The pred and the prey duo. The rabbit and the fox.

 

An abomination, walking, talking and breathing. And having the audacity to wonder why these kinds of things happened.

 

But that was it, wasn’t it? Some sick act of equalization was occurring, something that shouldn’t have ever happened. What was wrong was moving forward, what was right was falling to the wayside.

 

Her contact had fallen by the wayside. Simon DuLarge, who had offered to be a light against the darkness that was now digging it’s way under her skin, through her muscles, and coiling around her vitals, had his card called and punched.

 

And she had been drinking his boiled body in her coffee this morning.

 

It had been a long shot, such a long shot. But it had been reprieve from the constant fear and uncertainty, the shackling she had felt for the past few months. They could have figured something out, anything, to buy them time. Anything to go off of. That was all she was hoping for.

 

That anything turned out to be that Simon was on a different ‘schedule’ then she was. Approximately by one day. And that his allotted time had expired.

 

There were others in the cohort. But she did not know them nor had any ways to contact them. Simon had been the one she had gotten to know, what few interactions they had. Maybe he had a way to contact the others, ask for help, ask what the hell was going on, ask anything that would result in her not winding up butchered.

 

Marcy was packing her things before she knew what exactly her plan of action was. But she continued, grabbing sturdy clothes, the remaining cash she had on hand, her ID, chargers, and a small handgun. She wasn’t exactly sure how to use it, but damnit if it looked intimidating. And right now, she could use any reassurance that she was going to survive this.

 

It was high time she left town. Should’ve been the plan months ago, she thought. The gazelle grabbed her bag and laughed her way out of the apartment, not even bothering to lock it. She was never going to come back. If she did, she’d be dead before lunch. And Marcy Kelt continued to laugh as she moved by the elevator and to the stairs, unaware of the tears that were freely running down her face.

 

She muttered, “this is insane, this is all so god damn insane” over and over on her way down.

 

In the stairwell, she was unaware of the mammal that followed her, who noted to himself that yes, life was so very insane.

 

~

 

Nick and Judy walked into the ZPD, having finished their rounds. At the front desk, Clawhauser was sighing in a pair of deputies who had a ram and a wolf in handcuffs. He was also trying to show them the new cover art for Gazelle’s new album.

 

“Ah c’mon man, what the hell,” the wolf breathed through his muzzle. “The ram doesn’t get this treatment?”

 

The officers, a hippo and an elephant, said nothing, continued with their paperwork. The ram, also in cuffs but lacking a muzzle, just shrugged and grinned. “I’m not the one with a head full of daggers, dog.”

 

“Fuck you, grazer,” the wolf barked back. “You tried to fucking charge me! Why doesn’t he get something to cover his horns?”

 

“Because it’s a lot harder to attempt assault with horns from a stopped position,” the hippo officer replied. The ram grinned harder, eliciting a growl from the wolf. “You better watch yourself, yarn ball.”

 

“That had better not have been a threat I just heard, in Precinct One, of all places,” the elephant officer warned. The wolf looked to the ground, closed his eyes, and exhaled heavily. He shook his head.

 

“I’ll keep me eyes out,” the ram replied, laughing lightly. The pair were escorted into holding.

 

Judy and Nick walked up to Clawhauser, who immediately tried telling them the varied history of the new Gazelle album artwork.

 

“Ben, that’s great and like all fine art I am sure there is one fascinating story behind it, but we’ve got something to attend to,” Nick stopped him. It had been several hours since the discovery of the coffee squirrel, as the rest of the department was whispering it, when the duo had gotten the call.

 

“Oh riiiiiiight,” Clawhauser seemed to all of a sudden remember why he had summoned them in the first place, and a little disheartened that he couldn’t tell them everything he had learned about album artwork that morning. “Got a match for the squirrel from his dental records. Called in relatives and they positively ID’d him. Simon DuLarge. No criminal record.” He handed them the compiled case on their charge.

 

What they soon learned about him was uninteresting as well as uninformative. Full time job working as maintenance on telephone-power lines in the rainforest district, no immediate family listed. Lived in Zootopia for fourteen years. There were no notes about suspected dealings or relations, no outstanding fines he owed the city.

 

“You said you found some family to come ID him?” Nick asked as both he and Judy read and reread the file.

 

“Mhmm, only his dad came in. No mention of a Mrs., though.”

 

“You wouldn’t have happened to have gotten his contact info, did you Ben?”

 

The cheetah gave them a wide smile. “Of course! Who do you take me for, just this precinct's most fabulous donut loving cop?” He took another bite, and quickly wrote down Dalton DuLarge’s address.

 

“Fabulous? Yes, you are,” Nick said, taking the address. He and Judy were already walking back out of the ZPD.

 

“While the iron is hot?” he asked her.

 

“While it’s hot.” She confirmed. This was going to suck.

 

~

 

They didn’t have to go far to find Dalton DuLarge. They didn't even have to go to their cruisers to start driving to Dalton Dularge's residency. Nick had noticed a grey squirrel sitting on the steps of Precinct One. The squirrel was staring at the cement, head in his paws, tail unmoving and flat on the ground. Nick and Judy approached with trepidation.

 

“Excuse us, Mr. DuLarge? We’re officers Hopps and Wilde with the ZPD. I know we have asked something awful of you, and we are hoping that you could give us a little more to help put this right.”

 

The squirrel didn’t turn to look at them, more just turned his head.

 

“Put this right . . . My son is dead.” He breathed.

 

“And we are going to need everything we can, every fact and opinion of your son to bring those responsible to justice,” said Nick.

 

The grey squirrel stood up, fists shaking. “My son didn’t have no enemies. He never crossed anyone.”

 

“You have no idea of anyone that would want to harm your son?” Judy pressed. Twice in one day she was asking a mammal to recount death, and she desperately wanted to call it over.

 

Dalton DuLarge looked directly at Nick. “The only mammals that ever want to hurt somebody are the ones built to do so.” Tears began rolling down his small face. “My boy is dead. My boy . . . is dead and _you_ . . . “ he hissed, pointing at Nick.

 

Judy tried to stop it, putting her hands up, but the damns had let loose. Nick stood his ground, keeping eye contact with the grieving father, pupils more slits than pools in the daytime light. He knew that this only played to the father’s anger, made him look like the killer the squirrel saw.

 

“My son is dead and he is never coming back! My boy is dead and he’s never coming back to me, and I had to look at him! I had to fucking look at my own son, dead on a slab! And I’d bet it was a predator that did it! You fanged sonsabitches have always had it out for us! We’ve never done nothing to you! My boy” – Dalton inhaled through a sob – “My boy never did nothing to deserve this!!” The rest devolved into incoherent screaming and sobbing.

 

And that was it. Both Judy and Nick knew it. Judy went to the father, a sobbing, heaving pile of fur on the front of the ZPD, drawing stares. She put a paw on his pack, and physically felt the waves of sorrow role off of him. Judy barely head Nick mutter ‘excuse me’ before walking away.

 

~

 

Later, the pair sat outside Precinct One, paperwork filled and finished, shifts finally over. Neither spoke for a while. Dalton DuLarge had nothing noteworthy to offer in terms of where to go next.

 

Judy looked at Nick, his ‘don’t let them see’ mask on tight. She had a terrible feeling of what he was thinking, and forced the words out of her mouth. She did not want to let their day end on a sour note if she could help it.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?” He asked in that nonchalant way that didn’t tell her if he was pissed or uncaring or anything other than indifferent.

 

“For not sticking up for you to Mr. DuLarge. I just let him say those things.”

 

Nick turned to her, and Judy felt a wave of relief wash over her. His pupils were black pools surrounded by vibrant green. There was a gentle smile on his lips. He didn’t like angered or upset in the slightest. Just exhausted.

 

“I have heard far worse throughout my whole life, Carrots,” he said in a calm and almost soothing voice. “The mammal was grieving. We called him in to identify his own son. I wouldn’t have expected anything less at that moment.” They were silent again for a few moments. And then Nick felt something touch his arm. He looked down to see Judy’s paw running the length of his forearm, fingers moving across his fur, before settling on the middle. He immediately thought of a similar incident on a sky tram when they had first met, and how he had pulled away, and how he continued to regret doing so.

 

Back then, at that moment, it was too soon and too fast. He had opened up one of his worst and most important memories to someone who was almost a total stranger at the time. Nick had felt so horribly vulnerable, one of the worst possible emotional states he had ever been subjected to. He felt exposed, without teeth or wit to defend himself. And he pulled away from her, wanting so desperately to escape from that vulnerability. 

 

But right now, with her small hand on his arm, he doesn’t feel scared. Nick Wilde feels . . . he’s actually not 100% sure what it is. Secure maybe. Regardless, he really likes the feeling. This is pretty okay, he thought. Don’t you do anything to fuck this up, Wilde. Not again.

 

So he let her paw stay there. And put his other paw on top of hers. Nick stole a quick glance at her, saw her calm smile, and felt the stress of the day start to leave him. Okay, that’s good for now, he thought. That’s plenty good for someone who doesn’t deserve it. Enjoy the moment, Slick.

 

Judy felt the warmth of his paws, the unique feel of his paw pads on her hand. She felt a little jump of excitement in her stomach. Okay, okay, she thought, don’t push it any farther. He looks happy with this, you do not want to push to hard again. Go slow and enjoy this with him.

 

They sat, happy and content that their day was done and that they were right where they both wanted to be.

 

~

 

Marcy Kelt was losing her mind. Because she couldn’t rationally decide where she wanted to be.

 

Seven. Seven different train stations. She had gone to seven different stations in the Downtown area, hoping to find them packed, only to find them deserted. Well, almost deserted. At each one, she was sure she could smell them. The awful stench of predators. They were onto her, and were making to head her off.

 

Fewer mammals, fewer witnesses.

 

She knew that she couldn’t risk trying for a cab. A Zuber was out of the question; she knew that her cards were all rejected. So she was stuck with a handful of train stations, verbalizing her hopes that the next would have more mammals in it.

 

Her break came at the end of the day. She had reentered the station at Jefferson, hoping that they would not have thought to double back on stations. Since she had tried leaving in the middle of the day, all of the stations were relatively quiet.

 

It was now approaching five thirty, and a good number of Zootopian workers were ending their shifts. She walked underground, and again, more was better than less. There were easily a few hundred mammals down there, of all sizes and varieties, waiting for the right train to come through. A hundred plus witnesses that would deter any possible assassination attempt.

 

She went down and searched out the Chestnut Hill West line. That would take her out of the city and to a smaller hub that essentially ferried mammals out to the sticks.

 

Did she have any idea where to go from there? No. But Marcy didn’t need to think that far yet. Zootopia was a really, really big city, and once she was out of it’s jurisdiction, they’d likely give up on her or lose her. And that was all she needed to go on right now.

 

A screaming cacophony of brakes pulled her back down from autopilot. Around her, dozens of mammals stood from the benches, grabbing their things, throwing away emptied coffee cups.

 

Marcy was dimly aware that her breathing became choked again. Coffee cups. She felt the pressure start in her lungs.

 

_Oh God, oh God, blood in the coffee. There’s blood in your coffee and you drank it._

 

The train arrived, it’s doublewide doors opened and a flow of mammals began stepping onto the platform. At the same time, Marcy and the pseudo-herd of mammals she had unknowingly been pooled into began flowing against them into the train car. It was always like this at the end of the day. There were even signs everywhere in the stations, proposing ‘The train will wait. So can you.’ This was to let every coming off the train to make it off and not be swept back into it against the tide of mammals coming on.

 

And yet she had never been more thankful. So many mammals in such close proximity. She felt her heart rate slow, felt a slight pleasantness in being a part of a group again. Within moments, the thoughts of bloody coffees disappeared from mind. This was it. She would get on that train and be free.

 

She walked to the train car. In a few seconds, a dozen plus different mammals moved off the train to her left and right. A deer, a bison, a lion, an aardwolf, a stoat, a family of sheep, a group of goats, a tiger couple. All so close together, purposefully ignoring each other. Limbs and torsos pressed flat against each other in a river of fur trying to go two ways at once.

 

Disgusting. A bunch of idiot cowards living like this. And to think, we were so close to getting back to the way things used to be.

 

A flurry of limbs, bodies and mammals. A bizarre and almost otherworldly miasma of scents that confused her nose and mind. Dozens of different sources of movement. Grunts, exhales, teeth clacking together, joints cracking.

 

Marcy tried to account for them all, but missed the one that casually reached up to her throat as the mammal in question moved directly by her, coming off the train. Marcy’s train of thought was stopped by feeling something slip under her jawline and push against the crook of her neck.

 

The gazelle felt a sudden stab of pain, bright and brilliant and piercing and ripping in all of its sudden severity that stole the voice right from her.

 

In one move, the paw unzipped her throat from right to left, going through her jugular vein, carotid artery, and windpipe on one motion.

 

Two jets of dark red shot out from underneath her vision, splattering against the oncoming group of mammals and metal walls and arm rails of the train car. Marcy went to inhale, and nothing happened, she couldn’t find the physical strength to inhale. She moved her hands up to her throat, instinctively trying to discern why she couldn’t breath and find the source of her pain. Her hooves were batted away by the fierce jets of blood.

 

The group that had so tightly surrounded her pulled away in near uniform unison. On some plan of consciousness, all of the mammals moved away from the dying member of the herd, leaving her to bleed out. Mammals began screaming. Some pulled out their phones. Kits began crying, some smelling the blood, others seeing it. Marcy fell to the metal floor of the train car, into a pool of growing blood under bright fluorescent lighting. Some of it spilled between the platform and the car, seeping down onto the tracks, bubbling and hissing as it hit the hot rails.

 

She looked up to see a female bobcat staring at her on the other side of the train car. Marcy’s blood had made it to her pant legs and feet. Marcy’s unconscious kicked on, and she felt a surge of fear burst through her.

 

Predator. Teeth. Claws. Hunt. Kill. Eat.

 

Through her blurring vision, Marcy waited to see the cat lounge to her. Waited to feel the claws and teeth start tearing at her open neck. The bobcat made no move to do so. The feline backed away from her, eyes wide, head shaking, mouth open, unable to summon the breath to scream. She only gave the dying gazelle as wide a berth as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One, i so deeply appreciate Clive Barker. Two, i'm having sooooo much fun with this. And three, the next update will come in a week's time. And so with this chapter we get the tiniest bit of interaction between Nick and Judy (taking it very slow here, cannot rush a smoldering romance in the making, gotta start with rubbing sticks to make smoke), and the plot is starting to move along nicely. Oh, one detail i would like to be made known. I'm a huge fan of having Nick's pupil's be true to fox form, meaning they can and will go from being big puss n boots eyes to razor slits, all depending on the environment and Nick's moods.  
> Thank you all for reading so far! As always, apologies for any mistakes i was unable to catch. Comments are always welcomed and appreciated.


	4. Reactive State

The night after Simon DuLarge was found dead in a coffee cup, both Judy and Nick dreamed of him.

 

In Judy’s dream, she stood by the squirrel in a graveyard, surrounded by a forest at cloud covered dusk. They were looking into a freshly dug grave. A small one, just for him. There was no coffin at the bottom; a pool of black liquid rippled and contracted as a mass, like muscle, deep in the newly exposed Earth. Steam rose from the pulsating mass.

 

Simon looked to her. There’s something down there, he said. It wants me. It’s going to kill me.

 

Judy tried to tell him he was fine there with her, that she could protect him. But he just shook his head.

 

No, he said, over and over. No, it’s not just there.

 

He pointed to the tree line that surrounded the graveyard. In the dark, mostly hidden in the shadows of dreamscape trees and foliage, moved things in black, things with sharps ends and terrible hungers.

 

She heard Simon mutter, Always there, always watching. They hunt. That’s what they do. They hunt by moonlight.

 

Judy felt to her hips, for her sidearm. It was gone. On that cue, the creatures, many of them, all broke from the tree line, running – sprinting – at the pair by the grave. Judy made to scream, and found she made no sound. She looked to DuLarge, as he walked forward to fall into his grave.

 

His small body fell into the pit, into the quaking black mass. It reached upwards to catch him. Judy looked around, saw dozens of monsters with sharp teeth about to grab her. As the things came within feet, she heard Simon, muttering as though talking through a mouth full of water, They hunt by moonlight, hunt by moonlight . . .

 

Judy bolted up and awake from her nightmare, reflexively grabbing the handgun next to her nightstand. She did a sweep of her shoebox apartment, finding nothing that warranted a 10mm hollow point slug.

 

Just a bad dream, she told herself. You’re thinking of the night howlers . . . and of that squirrel. It’s done, over. It was just a bad dream.

 

Judy holstered her firearm, and laid back down. A hungry black liquid. Monsters in the dark. They hunt by moonlight. What an awful thing to dream of.

 

~

 

Nick dreamed of a nameless place he was terribly familiar with. A field with high grass at night. Sometimes there was a moon. Sometimes stars. Sometime an all consuming darkness. Tonight it was a moon, brilliantly bright. He was naked and running on all fours, searching for a squirrel. He had to warn him, tell him that there was something after him.

 

He couldn’t see Simon DuLarge, but could smell him, could just faintly hear him running away from him. Nick tried yelling to him, screaming to him to be careful, that there was something in the thick grass. Something awful and dangerous and hungry.

 

And Nick could sense that it, too. It smelled strongly and sounded feral, lacking any conscious thought or reason. He could never fully see it. Nick would turn his head while running to catch a glimpse of a dark shadow dart near and past him through the waves of high grass.

 

The shadow silently left him in last place as it rapidly advanced forward, honing in on the sound of a running squirrel. Nick ran alone, trying to catch up to them, trying to scream to the squirrel, Look out! It’s coming for you! Don’t stop running!

 

The screaming stops Nick Wilde in his tracks, lost in that horrible, familiar ocean of tall grass that he would have to jump to clear and see over. He never did try to see above, afraid to see what surrounded his field. If anything did. On all fours, he pants, and cannot summon the breath nor strength to find the squirrel. The screaming stops.

 

It is quiet, so quiet. Even in the dream, the grass and wind are mute. But Nick Wilde knows. He knows the monster caught Simon DuLarge, killed him, and wakes up from his nightmare, saying aloud, “It has him in its jaws” over and over.

 

After a moment of consciously regaining his composure, Nick flopped back down onto his beat to shit, hard as a slab of rock mattress. He had seen bodies and murders before, long before he met Judy. And while death and the ugly business of dying unnerved and upset him, Nick was usually able to keep those feelings locked away from bothering him. He never had anything directly to do with them, thank god. He was never a direct causal mechanism in the deaths he had seen in his life. And as such, had never felt responsible for any of them. Fucked up? Yeah, it was, but so was life, and the life of being born a fox, lowest on the socio-totem pole next to the hyenas, weasels, and wolves. So from someone that almost no one gave two shits about, he found he could do the same right back.

 

Nick knew what it was like being at the bottom, having so little control over your own life because of where society dictated you should be from the moment you were born. For Simon DuLarge, Nick felt not responsibility, but empathy, for his death.

 

~

 

They each thought roughly the same thing when they saw each other the next morning at the Precinct. _Wow. They look like hell._

 

Both Nick and Judy arrived with bags under their eyes, although Nick had it far worse. Being semi nocturnal, Nick would probably never get used to early rises, and on this particular morning, it showed hard. His fur actually seemed to have less of a glow and looked a little mangy. He wore his shades inside, indicator of either a hard night drinking or a night of sleeplessness. Judy smelled not a drop on him, and guessed the latter. She had also texted him to not get any coffee that morning. That errand was already taken care of by her.

 

“Thank you, Fluff. Don’t know what I’d do without you. Or without the magic black bean,” he said, taking and sipping the coffee. Judy smiled and followed suite, also sipping hers.

 

“Rough night?” she treaded, proceeding with mild caution. Sometimes Nick was forthcoming with what he did outside of work. Sometimes not. Judy knew

 

(actually hoped)

 

that what he did on his spare time wasn’t illegal. She knew in her gut that Nick had plenty of unknowns stuck to him, and that unknowns tended to have thorns. She was careful in picking and choosing.

 

Nick knew better that to outright lie, so he gave her a white lie, more a redirection, at best. “Mhmm. You?”

 

Nick trusted Judy, and trusted her with many things, a lot of things. But not all of them. Some things were too dangerous, too threatening to trust anyone with. And one of them was a dream that him and many other preds had all their lives. Dreams that were only spoken about in the comforts of pred homes and predominately pred dominated neighborhoods and pred only bars. And he knew they would inevitably wind up on the topic of this familiar dream (or nightmare depending on who’s asking) if he elaborated on what he had experienced in his sleep.

 

Judy took the hint and moved on. And that one, she thought, has thorns. “I dreamed about DuLarge. Dreamed something bad happened to him, and that I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

 

Nick momentarily closed his eyes and nodded in knowing. They sipped their coffees, admiring the lobby.

 

“Pretty powerless feeling, huh?” he asked her. Judy nodded back, staring at her coffee, ears flat against her back. Her nose had started twitching. When he counted to ten watching her stare at her coffee for an answer she wouldn’t find there, he decided to share his opinion. He removed his aviators.

 

“You know what predominately poor pred neighborhoods think of police?”

 

“That we’re out to get them and we all think of them as the bad guys?”

 

“Well, there’s some ugly realities in there, but that’s a talk for later. Not entirely what I’m getting at.”

 

“Do tell.”

 

Nick sipped his coffee. “Police hope to be both a preventative and a reactive measure. Often times they are only one or the other. For instance, in poor neighborhoods in this city, a police presence does not deter crime. They only respond after the fact, and sometimes they are not the upholders of the blind justice City Hall makes them out to be. Those stories about crooked cops and ones that are outright abusive? I know the city government and the media deny and hush-hush those things, but I have personally seen them happen.” Judy was now turned to him, ears facing him, paying undivided attention to Nick. “Why is it that you see that the mammals with the most guns, both legally and illegally purchased, are those in the lower income brackets? They’re not only fearing their bigger, meaner neighbor, but they have as little trust in the establishment meant to protect them. And that in turn means that plenty of mammals see cops and robbers as one in the same, just wearing different clothes. Now, the preventative presence of the police force is entirely removed. Because no mammals in those lower income brackets trusts cops to stop crime. Mammals see police, think ‘I’m going to get tazed’ or ‘they’re only treating me like shit because I was born with sharp teeth.’ And when crime does occur, the law can only react to it, sometimes poorly. In poor places, both in this City and throughout the world, the police are solely reactive. The point being, it’s a coin toss on whether the police in this city can serve as a preventative or a reactive security measure.

 

“Often times, as I’m sure we’ll learn to know in an inner city precinct, Police are typically reactive. Sometimes we are - gah it is still a little funny to think that ‘we’ includes ‘I’ which includes the police force but back to the point – sometimes we are preventative, which is the best we can be. But plenty of times, we are reactive. In the case of Simon DuLarge, we could have only been reactive. So far, we have almost nothing to go on that could have given us a preventative edge in stopping his death.”

 

Judy wasn’t aware of her mouth hanging open. She had never received a speech like this from the academy, or from Bogo.

 

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “All we could have done there was show up. I have learned that the police mean to be both a reactive and preventative measure meant to aid the city and its citizens. But often times, we are one or the other. There will be plenty more times where we can only be reactive, not preventative. It’s sometimes the best we’ve got. And you and I will both have to learn that sometimes it’s better to be one of those states than neither.” Nick managed to smile softly at her, making a last minute mental note to not bear his teeth since prey (i.e. Judy) didn’t react normally to that display.

 

It took Judy a while to process what she had heard. The words buzzed in her head, settling into a reflective train of thought. In a few moments, she smiled back at him, her own teeth showing in a wordless thank you. “You’re right,” she thought aloud, “Protect and Serve, words to live by, yet enforced unevenly. We can do better, can’t we?” She grinned at him, and setting her coffee down, made to pull Nick’s upper lips up into a haphazard, encouraging smile, showing his top row of teeth.

 

Nick was so surprised by this action that he didn’t do anything but stare back at her, mouth slacking open a little with his bizarre upper smile. She released his face and resumed sipping, with a smug grin and lidded eyes that said _gotcha there, didn’t I? Who could possible give a hard time to this big bad fox? Especially one so handsome._

Nick regained his composure and naturally grinned back at his partner.

 

This bunny. Out to change the world for the better, even if the world doesn’t want to change. Nick Wilde, you have truly found your role model and partner at the ripe ol age of thirty-two.

 

He made to inhale and then sip his coffee but didn’t make it to the sip. Something else was layered into the smell of the morning brew. He pushed his coffee away from his muzzle and inhaled a little more deeply this time, and recognized his partner. She must’ve broken out into a nervous cold sweat during her nightmare last night. He could smell it on her.

 

And she smelled absolutely wonderful. One part natural Judy (which he thought smelled strongly of spring fields and a hint of pine), one part how you smell when you wake up, and another part pure female. This morning it seemed to be more a 1 – 2 ½ – 1 scent ratio she had going on. Judy’s scent was just divine. Especially that last part.

 

Her phone rang, and Judy saw that it was Dr. Kaufman. She showed Nick the caller ID before answering.

 

“Officer Hopps speaking?”

 

“Judy dear, tell me something, when we found Simon DuLarge and you were interviewing the poor doe who found him. What was her name?”

 

“Marcy Lang.”

 

There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed with, “oh. Huh. That’s so strange. Because a few EMT’s just brought me a dead gazelle who I thought looked so incredibly familiar.”

 

Judy felt her stomach drop. “You think she was the gazelle I interviewed yesterday?”

 

“Judy, unless it’s a doppelganger, this poor dear looks exactly like her. Only the last name isn’t Lang, it’s Kelt. Had her purse left with her, along with her ID and some interesting belongings.”

 

“Nick and I’ll be right down.” Judy hung up, and gave Nick a worried look. Because he had been standing very close to her for the duration of the phone call, she guessed he had heard most of it. And she was right in this assumption.

 

Within a minute, they arrived downstairs in the ZPD coroner’s office. A singular slab was pulled out from the wall, a white sheet draped over the body. The room smelled so strongly of disinfectant and the funny odor neutralizing scent blocker Dr. Kaufman used to keep the smell from brick walling anyone who came down to her lab. Nick hated the smell, said it gave the room “the smell that could only rightly belong on an alien spaceship,” as he had put it.

 

As the three of them gathered around the still sheet, Judy felt that both the room and the situation were indeed quite alien. It smelled alien, looked alien, and just felt all around bad. Dr. Kaufman removed the sheet, and Judy sharply inhaled.

 

The gazelle had acquired a solid cut through the entirety of her neck. A canyon of flesh, rosy and glossed, lay between the top of her torso and her muzzle. Her eyes were so still, looking unflinchingly into the overhead light.

 

Nick carefully watched his partner. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the way she looked at the gazelle was the first time she had seen a dead body that she knew. Judy didn’t blink and her nose was twitching nonstop, as though she had a live wire attached to her head. He knew it was Judy’s first time seeing someone known that was no longer so. It was not his first. Not by a long shot.

 

And they both knew, like the good doctor, that it was undoubtedly their witness to the coffee cup murder that lay on the metal slab in front of them.

 

“And she lied about her last name,” Nick pondered aloud to all. “That’s not good.”

 

“Knew more than she was willing to tell me,” said Judy. She looked to the doctor. “What made that cut in her throat?” she asked.

 

“Claw,” the porcupine said without an ounce of uncertainty in her voice. “No knife I’ve ever seen could do that degree of damage with the precision exacted here.”

 

“You wouldn’t happen to know what mammal it came from,” Nick led on, but he already kinda knew her answer.

 

“That’s going to take a bit of time to discern, and while I likely will come to a conclusion, it’s far more likely that I’ll just be able to boil it down to a handful of possibilities. With these kinds of things, it’s easy when it’s more than two claws marks. However, I’m working with one. I’m going to need some time.”

 

“Seems to be the one thing we’ve got in spades so far,” Nick muttered.

 

“You said she had interesting belongings with her?” Judy asked, hoping that it would be anything to go off on.

 

“Indeed she did.” Dr. Kaufman directed them to another table, this having all of the evidence found in Marcy Kelt’ bag. The bottom of the bag, a cream color originally, was stained with something dark. As they drew near, they inhaled the stale scent of dried blood. Internally, Judy’s gut did a flip in disgust.

 

Dr. Kaufman replaced her gloves, and Nick and Judy dawned a pair each. Next to the bag, several objects and novelties were laid out. Most notable among them was the small snubnose revolver.

 

“Looking like a .38 special,” Nick commented in a nonchalant voice that conveyed that he was most likely right about the caliber before even picking the weapon up. As he picked up the weapon to examine it, Judy noticed how deftly he handled the gun, how without a moment’s hesitation, he worked the safety and cylinder release, checking the empty weapon. The ZPD’s primary arms were non lethal tranquilizers, but all officers were issued a lethal secondary in case of the worst. Small field officers (only Judy) received a backup chambering 9mm. Small-medium sized officers (only Nick) received handguns chambering the 10mm pistol round. Wolf and big cat officers received 5.7x28mm, and the largest officers had backup handguns loaded in .45 ACP. McHorn had a .500 magnum revolver that he was rumored to have inherited from his dad years before they stopped producing that specific model. The various police departments of Zootopia and beyond had phased out the wheel guns years ago.

 

And of course Nick was right about the caliber. Judy had a hunch that he also immediately knew the manufacturer, but that he refrained from saying so. Another little ‘unknown’ about Nick Wilde. That one most probably had thorns in it as well. “She clearly thought she would be needing it.”

 

“Likely she didn’t even see her attacker,” Judy commented. “Speaking of which, I don’t suppose anybody saw anything?” It was more statement than question, because she wouldn’t have had to ask it if the ZPD was already on it.

 

Dr. Kaufman shook her head. “Happened right at closing interchange on the Chestnut Hill West line at Jefferson Station. A hundred plus mammals stuffed down in the tube, plenty coming on, plenty coming off. Security footage is on its way over, but I heard the security staff at metro say that there was no real way to see who did it. Too packed together. One minute she’s up, the next, she’s not. But we’ll take a good long look at it and decide that for ourselves, won’t we?”

 

The trio looked back to Marcy Kelt, once living now no more. Marcy stated back up at the ceiling, into the light unblinking. Judy looked back at the rest of the spilled contents of her bag. Charger, ID, an unloaded gun --- the six rounds were evenly lined up on the table --- and a wad of cash, folded in and held by a rubber band.

 

That struck Judy a little odd.

 

“Nick, just by a look, how much do you think that is?” Judy turned and asked, pointing at the money.

 

The fox looked at the rubber banded pack, then back to the rabbit. “What, you think because I am a fox that came from inner city streets that I can just look at a conspicuous sum of dollar bills and be able to glance the appropriate amount?”

 

“I _know_ you can do a hell of a lot more than just that, Wilde.” Judy suppressed the smile that wanted to follow this statement. Even though he didn’t smile, she saw his eyebrows arch upwards, examining her and her accusation.

 

“Is that right?” he asked in a slightly prolonged drawl, a little slower than he would have otherwise. Judy could see the corners of his mouth starting to upturn. Before he could let his lips betray him, he turned to the money packet. “To answer your question, of course. That’s probably about a grand right there, give or take, assuming they’re all twenties.”

 

He looked back at the rest of the items and began tapping on the counter, claws popping out with a clear audible click and sharply drumming on the metal. Both Judy and Dr. Kaufman paid immediate attention to this honestly predatorily habitual tick. After a few waves of drumming, Nick retracted all of his claws back into his paw with a less pronounced but still noticeable pop and turned to Judy.

 

“Now tell me, Officer Hopps. What does this all tell you?”

 

He didn’t have to wait at all for the correct answer.

 

“This tells us ---“ Nick really liked that it wasn’t _her_ but _us_ , both she and him --- “that she knew someone was coming after her. And soon. She left her home with nothing more than her mattress money, that gun, and the idea to get the fuck out of dodge.” Judy covered her mouth the moment one of her father’s phrases left her. It was a unlike her to swear or say anything vulgar unless super agitated or excited. Swearing and dropping crude humor was more Nick’s panache, although he savored Judy’s little Freudian slips and, almost private changes in her character. They were too funny in their honesty, and continually filled him into the character of the rabbit that was Judy Hopps.

 

Judy continued, pushing past her slight embarrassment. “She may or may not have known her attacker, but that ultimate point is that she knew someone was coming after her to do her harm. She knew it, knew she didn’t have enough time, and tried to get out of the city.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Nick smiled, proud of her near instantaneous reasoning. “The Chestnut Hill West line snakes you back out of the city and eventually into the boonies. If she was on the run, she was probably thinking she could escape whatever was coming after her if she could manage to get the fuck out of dodge.” Nick internally gleamed at seeing the insides of Judy’s ears go one shade pinker.

 

“You think it’s connected to Simone DuLarge showing up dead in her coffee dup?” Nick pondered aloud.

 

“Seems so, but, it’s a big city with a lot of possibilities. Two cases, even being so closely connected, may not be related. We still have almost nothing on DuLarge. Same for her. Till a connection is established, coincidental.” Judy was thinking in lieu of Nick, but they had nothing tying their deaths together. Nothing but a cup of morning coffee and - -

 

\- and both victims being prey, thought Judy. As broad as you could get, but it was something, the only similar thing between them.  

 

“We’re waiting on warrants to clear to start searching through their homes and start digging through their phones and computers. Should be good by either late tonight or by tomorrow. But, I’m sure you know the speed at which a judge prefers to move at. So, until then, we must play the waiting game,” Dr. Kaufman concluded.

 

“And I think that means we get to go work our beat, don’t we officer?” signaled Nick, already turning around to leave. “Doctor,” he said over his shoulder,” always a pleasure.” Nick began ascending the stairs back out the lobby.

 

Judy looked to Dr. Kaufman. They both rolled their eyes, Kaufman stifling a small laugh.

 

“I’m impressed though, Judy. I can see why the Chief thinks you two are his up and coming wonder-officers for Precinct One. You and Nick communicate and work so good together and with more cohesion than damn near everyone else on the force. It shows in your completed case files, continually growing, if gossip is to be believed.”

 

[e.g. Clawhauser]

 

“Would you back me up on the Chief Bogo comment the next time Nick and I land in the hot seat?” Judy asked, again trying her pouting face.

 

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Dr. Kaufman said. “I will vehemently deny it. But seriously, it’s almost comical how well you two jive together as partners. Most green backs here go through a few games of musical chairs when it comes to finding the right partner.”

 

“Couldn’t have asked for a better partner. And I’ll be sure to keep him from getting in too much trouble,” Judy grinned.

 

“And you be careful around him, Judy,” the porcupine playfully warned in a soft voice. “Nick Wilde is good mammal, but all foxes are natural charmers.”

 

“A legend in his own mind,” Judy quipped, then followed, a little more softly to one of the only other female mammals she consulted with besides her mom, “Although . . . he does have really beautiful eyes. I mean I’ve just noticed them a bit more, lately, you know,” she added lamely.

 

“Why yes dear, he does,” Dr. Kaufman remarked, starting towards Marcy Kelt’s body. “You should know, the way he looks you up, down, front to back with those wide emeralds I’m surprised you haven’t said anything sooner.”

 

The comment briefly stunned the rabbit. “I’m sorry . . . ?” Judy was able to make out in mild surprise. “What do you mean up, down, front to back!?” She actually said the last three words in a higher pitch then the rest of the sentence.

 

Jill Kaufman raised her eyebrows in a _are you kidding me_ look. “I could be reading it wrong, maybe he is just really, really fond of repeatedly examining your bushy tail, Officer Hopps.”

 

The porcupine smiled, leaving an open mouthed Judy, pointing accusingly, who after a moment, just pointed back to the stairs, and followed after her partner. “Ah, to be young,” Dr. Kaufman smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that turned out a little longer than planned, but i think longer chapters are typically more enjoyable reads. As always, comments are icing to the cake and deeply appreciated. Tell me what you liked and what you didn't! Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!


	5. Death Rides a Pale Horse

The next day, life continued. Nick and Judy resumed their current police duties, walking their beat while impatiently waiting on the magistrate’s go ahead to start going through Simon DuLarge and Marcy Kelt’s belongings, homes, and possessions. Dalton DuLarge had resumed drinking again, believing it to be the one thing between him and the growing and persistent thoughts of suicide. Marcy Kelt has no immediate family in the city, and no one seems to be coming forward on her behalf, asking about a gazelle found dead in the subway. Funeral arrangements are made for the deceased. A killer reads about the murders in the morning paper, drinks coffee at another crowded café amongst its patrons.

 

In center city, there’s a rally for the reinstitution of the segregation policy between predators and prey, to resurrect and resume the old laws from years past. ZPD presence keeps the protestors from coming to blows, with pro segregation mammals spitting and screaming in both the police and opposition’s faces. In Tundratown, two tiger cubs pass an odd warehouse. It has not been left to ruin and the lights are on, yet there are no cars or mammals around it. Odder still is that the cubs find this particular warehouse nestled far away from any other buildings, away from any streets. Against their itching curiosity to investigate, they heed their mother’s warnings about being safe and responsible cubs and stay away from it. For today, at least. Deals are made, money is exchanged, mammals wake up to go to work, mammals wake up wondering if today they will find work. Mammals will wonder what they’ll eat next. Mammals will wonder when and if they get a next meal. A female zebra wakes up, not knowing she will later look on social media and realize her brother has been found dead in a hotel room.

 

The city, in all its fantastic wonders and dark horrors, sleeps, wakes, and lives in a cycle that stops for no one. It is a wheel, and so it turns.

 

~

 

Today, their beat is in their least favorite district; Sahara Square. The heat is sweltering, the combination of the sun and the artificial climate created by the ‘weather walls.’ The mammals indigenous to this climate think that today, it’s pleasant. To nonnative police officers who have to walk the Mojave strip to establish a ‘friendly police presence,’ namely Nick and Judy, it’s like walking in an oven set to bake at 450 degrees. They stop at ever other shop to refill their water bottles.

 

The sole reason they are not in the comfort of the air-conditioned police cruise is on orders from both the new mayor, Linda Swinton, and Chief Bogo. One of the major gangs in the city, Los Cuernos, operates out of Sahara Square, and lately, violence from the slum quarter has begun spilling into the more residential neighborhoods. Drug deals, prostitution, extortion, drive-by’s, conflicts with other gangs (including goring of other gang members), racketeering; the gang runs the standard gamut of the new age crimes with non of the subtlety or inherent codes of the old crime families.

 

It is this wanton endangerment of mammals outside of the consistently poor and consistently violent neighborhoods that have pressured the ZPD to issue more officers here as a deterrent. And now that there are blue uniforms on the streets, the crime has receded back into more seedy streets and alleys. A temporary fix to a more pertinent issue that not many are too concerned with.

 

“Jesus, Mary, and Todd. You’d think they’d issue us camel packs for standing out on this heat.” Nick kept trying to loosen his collar without undoing past the second button. He kept grimacing, making to open his mouth but shutting it abruptly. He almost looked like he was trying to cough.

 

“This is what happens when you make too many smart ass remarks to the Chief every morning during roll call,” said Judy. “He used to make us do parking duty whenever you did one jab too many, and then you had to go and spoil that you actually _liked_ parking duty because it was easy. We won’t be seeing parking duty for months unless there’s no one else to do it.” Although, Judy had to agree with Nick. It was on the easy side, and Nick never once seemed to be bummed or lessened when a mammal gave him a hard time about a newly printed ticket. And he was great at making up comebacks against the hateful remarks they received in the dozens on that particular task.

 

“Yeah well, I think we needed a break from being the city’s top meter maids. Let someone else take up that mantle,” he dodged. The pair strolled up Mojave strip, smiling and sending the occasional wave to anyone that actually paid them any real attention. Judy noticed two foxes on the other side of the street, both leaning against a shaded wall, one smoking. Nick, it seemed, wasn’t the only fox with an affinity for sunglasses. Both had their eyes covered in reflective shades. Judy also became aware that, come to think of it, she had not seen many foxes in the city.

 

“Hey, is there a certain area foxes live in this city?” was her segue into that conversation, and the moment the comment left her mouth, she hoped that it didn’t come off as racially offense as it sounded. Thankfully, Nick just let out small bark of a laugh.

 

“Well, it’s a little hot in the desert here for foxes. Finnick enjoys it way too much here, but that’s his deal. Big eared freak loves this heat. A few in the rainforest district, a great deal in Happytown and in the Nocturnal district. Every now and then you hear of some in the straits and canals. Arctic foxes stick to Tundratown, no surprises there.”

 

Judy had only heard of Happytown. Descriptions ranged from ghetto to hellhole to pred dominated slum town to community/prison hybrid and other brazen tags. She had reason to believe in these descriptions because it was just as often preds as well as prey mammals that described Happytown as such. But the Nocturnal District. That was a new one.

 

“Haven’t heard of the Nocturnal district.”

 

“Because it’s not really an official district. It stems off the north of Happytown at the south end of Savannah Central and into the Canals District.” Nick had a great sense of direction, and they often navigated by his own lay of the land as opposed to zoogle maps. Judy was still working on developing hers.

 

“So, like a pseudo District? What’s it like?”

 

“Well, during the time frame where the giant nuclear reactor in the sky is up and burning bright, like right now, almost everyone there is sleeping. Which sounds great right about now. Holy shit that sounds nice, and with shade too. Oh! And a beer. I could definitely go for a beer too.”

 

Judy eyed him. “Beer and sleeping?”

 

Nick just smiled at her. “Well, sleep all day, then when the moon comes out, get breakfast and a coffee. And if the night’s going good, a beer by midnight.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, Judy heard a dark voice whisper _hunt by moonlight_. She quickly pushed the intrusive thought away with her newfound curiosity on the district she had never once heard of.

 

“Really, Nick, what’s it like there? Good places to eat, neat things to do, that kind of stuff.”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s got the genuine night life that actually goes all night. I think half of the population there arrives at seven PM from the rest of the city and leaves around last call. The bars and clubs way over in Downtown typically close out around two or three if the crowd is throwing money around. The establishment that is the Nocturnal District, everything that you would normally see running in the day time in the rest of the city runs congruent with the ‘night life’ – he said in air quotations – “and during the day, boring, menial tasks like shipping and stocking of store shelves occurs. Kind of a flip of the diurnal routine.”

 

Judy was actually bouncing a little in excitement. “Oh wow! This place sounds awesome! An entire district that functions around nightfall.”

 

“It certainly is pleasant,” Nick said, “But you usually only find a certain crowd there.”

 

“Like who?” Judy immediately thought of the answer but wanted to hear it from the fox’s mouth. Nick propped his aviators off his eyes and in front of his ears.

 

“Younger crowds. A little strange, a little unorthodox. Tattoos, piercings, borderline offensive clothing choices. Plenty of drinking, recreational drugs, public and exclusive parties, sex so raunchy no religion will condone it. Typically have sharp teeth.”

 

Nick lightly snapped his jaws once to illustrate, and Judy jumped a few inches off the sidewalk. She landed on her feet (thank god for inherent rabbit balance and reflexes) and the pair stared at each other in surprise.

 

Nick smiled in a surprised fashion at the fact that snapping his teeth made her jump like a command. That, and with her brief experience of being airborne, Judy had gasped in such a high pitch that it actually came off as a squeak. Judy gave him a semi timid, semi quizzical look. A smile that was trying to break across her face amidst an uncertainty from her instincts screaming otherwise. Her pupils had dilated a noticeable degree. Judy felt a warm surge run through her body, a pleasant heat that flushed her stomach and pelvis that was no doubt induced by the mention of kinky sex and Nick’s teeth. And those eyes to top it off. His pupils were now black slits nestled in vibrant green pools. He almost looked menacing, in an attractive bad-yet-good way. The kind of bad society always made predators out to be.

 

Only ‘bad’ was the furthest thing from what Judy called this. More like ‘pretty fucking stupendous’ or ‘why am I so turned on by this?’

 

They stared at each other for a moment too long to be conventional. Judy watched his nostrils flare. Nick’s line of thought was _holy shit holy shit that turned her on I can smell it HOLY shit Judy you smell even better when you're turned on._ Nick felt a similar warmth well up through him, and began to salivate.

 

“Did I scare the poor little rabbit?” he almost purred.

 

“Ha! Haha, ha. No. No, not in your dreams, Wilde,” Judy managed to stutter out. Judy then immediately turned and seeing the nearest shop, made towards it, mind racing for a distraction.

 

“I, uh, I need some more cold water,” she said in an ever so mildly strained voice. “Getting too hot out here. Again.”

 

Nick followed and let her enter the shop first, watching her tail and rear sway back and forth, scent burned fresh into his nose. _Imagine all that, but naked._ The thought instantly resulted in an increased heart rate and a surge of blood to his groin. “Yeahhh good call I think I do, too,” he mumbled, readjusting his uniform pants.

 

As they entered the store, Judy felt the sixth sense of a pair of eyes burning holes on her bottom. There was a mirror on the wall to their side, and without turning her head more than a few degrees, she could see Nick staring either at her tail or just below it. Or both. She thought of what Dr. Kaufman said, and decided not to say or do anything about it, the giddy smile trying to creep back onto her face.

 

~

 

They reentered the oven heat of Zootopia, having received newly donated bottles of cold water in paw. Both had readjusted themselves in the other’s presence. Nick had put his aviators back on and made sure his erection was hidden in his pants, and Judy had composed herself and made the blush recede back down and out of her ears and face. Both decided that the best course of action was to play it cool and not bring up the ‘Nick teeth-snapping equals startled/embarrassed/horny Judy’ incident. Flirting with your opposite sex best friend, right? Everybody does it once and a while.

 

Separately, both decided that they would absolutely be revisiting and replaying that moment in private.

 

Judy also decided to drop the Nocturnal district topic for the moment. Nick hadn’t outwardly said that prey weren’t allowed, from the sounds of it, they were just the minority in that particular area. With the predominately prey city of Zootopia being a commonplace thought, she was now itching with curiosity to see what the other side of the coin was like. The thought of a ghost town coming alive when the moon woke up and filling with gleaming eyes and sharp teeth was both thrilling and a little terrifying.

 

Their radios chirped to life. “Dispatch to field officers. Anyone in Sahara Square, near Olive and Pearson Street?” Judy turned to Nick. Even behind sunglasses, she could practically hear the gears turning as he worked out his mental map. He tapped her on the shoulder. “Back to the cruiser. We’re six or seven blocks north of there. Call it in.”

 

“Dispatch, Officers Hopps and Wilde are in the area, ready to move. What’s going on?”

 

“Female raccoon just called in, said she found a body in one of her hotel’s rooms. Go and call it in if you confirm what she’s screaming to me over the phone here is true.” The rest was drowned out as Nick and Judy ran back to the squad car.

 

Hoping in, Judy fired up the engine and Nick practically jumped from the passenger seat to start the AC. They waited for the cool air to start flowing. For air to start flowing. For something to whir to life. Nothing.

 

“No,” Nick said in a slight panic. He turned off the AC, then back on. Nothing. No hiss or whirl or anything. “No, no, no, nooooooooo c’mon are you shitting me? The AC’s busted?? Oh my god I’m going to melt into a fucking puddle at this rate. The car’s worse than outside.”

 

Judy noticed something right there about Nick. He wasn’t sweating. His collar and shirt, unlike hers, wasn’t spotted with sweat marks. He looked almost dry. And then she saw it.

 

Nick’s mouth was wide open as he lowered the window, his tongue hanging languidly out. He was panting.

 

After a few moments of staring, Nick noticed and spun around with incredibly speed, locking eyes with her again and zipping his tongue back in his head like retracting measuring tape.

 

“Carrots, listen to me right now. Do not, I repeat, Do. Not. Say anything about my panting, I don’t wanna hear any wisecracks about it. I think my lungs are going to come up through my mouth I’m so hot.”

 

Judy was a little shocked at the sudden seriousness in his voice and put her hands up as if she was being mugged. “No, no wisecracks, got it. Not a word.”

 

Judy instantly got that it was a sensitive topic. She hadn’t seen a predator actually pant before, and she could guess why. All of Nick’s saw teeth were on wide display, and there was still a lot of mammals that really, really disliked that. In some instances amongst preds, bearing your teeth was the same as saying ‘the fuck you looking at?’ or ‘you gonna bark all day little doggie or are you gonna bite?’ Of course, at this moment, it wasn’t threatening in the slightest. It was Nick desperately trying to relieve heat from his body.

 

With the window down, he dropped his shoulders and continued to pant heavily, tongue lightly bouncing up and down out of his open mouth. And Judy said nothing of it. Although she did catch a few glimpses of his tongue and just how long it was. _Cheese and crackers, you could actually measure his in inches_ , she thought.

 

Judy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened audibly. _Holy Shit_ , she thought. _Imagine that, only running up you . . . Good god I need a cold shower._

 

~

 

In all cities, the neighborhood can change from block to block. Rich and affluent one block, boarded up and broken into the next. The Sands Hotel was nestled in an increasingly seedy area, evident of the trash strewn over the sidewalks and the chains and eviction notices across doors of foreclosed buildings. Lights flashing, Nick and Judy met a terrified older raccoon at the entrance.

 

She pointed to the hotel, like she had to specify what was behind her. Throughout her speech, the raccoon inhaled and stopped briefly to stop the oncoming tears. “Sixth floor, room 607. I – I went to knock, and I could smell it. There was blood. We’re not supposed to enter when the sign is on the door, but oh God I could smell blood. So I used my card and – and opened the door and,” she stopped, inhaling, “There was so much blood.” She looked ready to faint.

 

At the door, a DO NOT DISTURB sign hung casually from the door handle. In room 607 was the bloodiest murder scene Judy had ever had the displeasure of seeing first hand. The raccoon was not lying. There was a wide literal river of crimson blood running from the victim’s neck and throat, off the bed, to the floor, and snaking to the doorway. The blinds were shut, but the harsh light of the day seeped through the cracks, providing a little natural lamination. All of the lights were off. On the bed was a naked male zebra, legs spread eagle, arms laying at a **T**. Something metallic and jagged was sticking out of his head, just beneath and behind his left ear. There were two empty liquor bottles on the nightstand, as well as what was definitely some sort of sex toy and a bottle of lube.

 

Nick turned to the raccoon. “Please wait outside the room, miss. We will call for backup. An officer will take your statement shortly. Thank you.” With the polite dismissal, the raccoon nodded, so relieved that she didn’t have to stay near the body. She moved down the hall.

 

Judy had frozen in place. The smell of blood hit her in an astoundingly strong and unpleasant collision. Her heart rate began climbing until it began to hurt. She couldn’t unclench her fists. Her subconscious, her base instincts were screaming _run run run as fast as you can there’s blood here predators can smell blood and are hungry will spill you open make you bleed too you can’t run if you’re bleeding to death_

 

A paw turned her towards him. She locked eyes with her partner. In the relative shade of the room, Nick’s pupils had widened beyond slits, but weren’t big spheres of black either. A healthy median of dilation. He already knew what was going through her head.

 

“How to I stop the thoughts?” she asked, voice starting to rise in a very slight panic. “I – I can’t control my breathing and my heart is really hammering away – ”

 

Nick now gripped her shoulders, holding her so firm she could feel it across her chess. “Hold my gaze, Hopps. Say ‘we are reactive here.’ “ She looked at him. Nick repeated, “Say it out loud, right now.”

 

She did. “We are reactive here.”

 

“That’s right. We are among the first responders. We are reactive. He is clearly dead. You are not in danger, you are not losing control. You are IN control here. You have me, and I have you. We are perfectly fine.” He smiled genuinely at her. “I know what quitters look like, and I also know that Judy Hopps is no quitter.”

 

And that did it. She thought of one her key memories, a defining moment in Judy Hopps’ life. _I want you to remember this moment, the next time you think you will ever be anything more than just a stupid carrot farming dumb bunny._

_The pain. That sudden burning pain._

_He was right about one thing. I don’t know when to quit._

 

_It is with great honor that I assign you to Precinct One, center city._

 

She felt the instinctual failsafe quiet in her head, felt her heart rate begin to climb back down from jumping up her throat. Her breathing evened. She closed her eyes, exhaled, opened them to look at Nick. Wide lavender eyes that were so kind in their warmth. Nick felt something foreign ping in his chest looking at her.

 

“Thank you,” she muttered through a wide smile. Her voice then resumed normal volume. “I really needed that. For a former hustler, you can be incredibly genuine, Nicholas.”

 

“I try,” he replied with a proud grin. _No you don’t,_ Judy thought, _you really can be great and genuine and emotional and personal with me Nick Wilde. You just hide it from everyone else by putting on that mask of yours. Just like the panting. Never give anyone ammunition against you. Never look like a fool or a savage predator. Always stay in control and never let them see that they get to you._

 

They called it in, and the CSI team arrived in quick time, and began their examination of the zebra. Judy went outside to secure the front of the building. Nick took the statement of the raccoon, the manager who also did cleaning if she was short staffed. Afterwards, they met up in the lobby.

 

“So, bad news already,” was Nick’s greeting to her.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like this entire place,” Nick waved a paw around her. To Judy, it was just old and a little run down. Not decrepit like a roadside hostel in a horror film. “What exactly is wrong with it?”

 

“Several things. One, have you noticed any peculiar scents since we’ve gotten here, other than the blood?” Judy thought for a moment, and her nose began twitching. Old wood, musty carpets, wallpaper glue calcified to the point of turning to dust. “Aside from being an old building, no. You’re the one with the nose. Cue me in.”

 

Nick made a loose pyramid with his hands to start explaining. “Gotcha. One, I can bet that this is a hotel most often frequented for prostitution. They accept cash at the front desk, no down deposits required for rooms or credit cards needed either. There are no security cameras in the hallways. No chain hotel does that anymore. Only the ones that allow a mammal to remain nearly anonymous. Two, sex has an incredibly distinct smell. In this building, the staff have tried to wash it out and cover it up, but after a while, it permanently settles in. And I can promise you the smell is in damn near every other room we’ve walked past.”

 

Judy replied, “But isn’t that kinda the point of hotels? Sleep in them and have sex in them away from home? Besides, I think all hotels battle that stench encroaching into their mattresses, sheets, rugs, furniture, and pillows.”

 

“You’re right,” Nick said, grinning, “but again, all of those hotels have ways of tracking any mammal that even walks through their door. This place doesn’t. Also, I’d bet no one from a good family or neighborhood comes this particular establishment since they are far cleaner and safer places to do so. Come take a brief gander with me, fluff.” They began walking down the hall to the back of the hotel when Nick said, “There’s also that.” He pointed at the ground floor exit. Printed on the red metal door was DO NOT OPEN ALARM WILL SOUND in white.

 

It took Judy a moment. “No way . . .” she said, walking towards it. Nick joined her. “Yup,” he whispered as he pushed open the unlocked exit. No alarm sounded. It led to the back of another building, just as old and the age beginning to show in the chipping paint and fissures in the brick. They walked outside into the back alley. There wasn’t even an external access staircase on the outside of the building.

 

“In case you don’t want the front desk to see you come in for three AM Netflix and chill sessions.”

 

“That zebra’s killer could’ve just walk right out the back door after he was done,” Judy fathomed. She sighed. Three murders in one week, all having near dead ends. Good start on the new cases. Her phone vibrated with an incoming call. Dr. Kaufman informed the pair that the search warrants had been approved, and the tech teams had started going through both Marcy Kelt and Simon DuLarge’s belongings. They hoped that they could make progress on that, at least.

 

~

 

The CSI crew found the zebra’s wallet and ID, and one member leaked the name to the quickly gathering associated press. The dead zebra was Matthew Feldman, and within minutes, his name was flooding onto yikyak and facebook. The snitch was at least kind enough to leave out the details and speculation of his death.

 

Nick let Judy vent her extreme anger of the leak to the CSI team, going up to every tech, regardless of what task they were engaged in, and demanding the snitch confess. She was almost screaming about procedure being grossly violated and that this action could have serious repercussions for all involved. Nick completely agreed, but let her do the accusing. Nick had never really thought of rabbits as anything other than meek and diminutive. Judy dominated the other end of the stereotype spectrum for her kind. When she was actually angry, she was a small force to be reckoned with. One time, a new officer, a rhino named Sean Turner, called her out in front of the bullpen by stating that a rabbit wouldn’t know shit from shineola when it came to police work. And that she was only suited to meter maid duty since a rabbit couldn’t take on a medium sized perp, let alone someone as large as him. Every officer in the bullpen went quiet, and waited for Hopps to defend herself. Nick actually caught himself opening his mouth to back her up, but stopped short when she put a small hand on his knee. Enough said. She had gotten up from her chair, and with a smile, suggested they spare in the ring. Sort it out the old fashioned way. The rhino agreed. Ten minutes later, with the rhino laying flat on the matt in a beaten daze with a rabbit standing on top of him, Judy asked Officer Turner if he still thought a rabbit wasn’t cut out for the force.

 

Everyone had known of Hopps’ takedown of another rhino back in her training at the academy, but had kept quiet because the older officers wanted to see it to believe it. Officer McHorn grunted twice in way of laughter when Judy had knocked the younger rhino flat on his ass.

 

After that, no one in the precinct gave Judy shit about her species and size. And Nick thought the world of her for it. He could see the similarities. Hopps knew what it was like being lowest on the totem pole, knew how everyone would take one look at you and decide everything about you from a look alone. And unlike him, she gladly set out to prove anyone who thought so dead wrong. If he didn’t think the world of her already, he half suspected he’d be jealous of her bravery.

 

“The object sticking out from behind Martin Feldman’s ear seems to be some sort of knife or shiv,” Judy said to Nick as she finished tearing the techs new assholes. “Those chuckleheads were smart enough to at least not remove it from Feldman’s head. Got a bunch of foreign fur from the room that didn’t belong to the zebra, so DNA will be run on that. They were saying about a dozen different types or so. Guess you were right there, cleaning must be a half assed afterthought here. Dr. Kaufman also called, said she’s not going to be able to make it here, and that the team should prep the body to be moved to her lab for further examination.”

 

As Judy and Nick started back to their squad car, Judy heard a hurried pace, hooves rapidly rising and falling onto concrete. She turned before Nick even heard the noise and saw a female zebra running towards them.

 

The zebra stopped before the pair, panting. “What was the name of the zebra you just found?” Social media is way too fast at this, thought Nick.

 

“Ma’am, because this is an active crime scene, we cannot divulge the name –“

 

The zebra cut him off. “Was his name Matthew Feldman?” Neither Nick or Judy could mask their surprise at her correct guess. And the zebra saw it, closed her eyes, and tears began to run down her slim face. No hiding it now.

 

“I’m sorry . . . Did you know him?” was Judy’s first question, followed with,” What’s your name?”

 

“My name is Mariah Feldman. And yes, I did. Matthew is my brother.”

 

~

 

The two officers and zebra sat down at a café on a nicer street in Sahara Square, blocks away from the crime scene. They had given her a lift in the squad car. Judy pulled out her notepad. “Ready when you are, Mariah.”

 

The zebra stared at her cup, filled with a red juice that was a shade too dark. Pomegranate, both Nick and Judy thought. She cleared her throat. “I should start by saying that I can’t be entirely surprised by this. I know my brother . . . He was – he was a very troubled mammal. He had a lot going on, a lot that he was deeply disturbed by.” Judy didn’t write much of this down. This would be a venting situation. Her instructor at the academy said that in the death of a loved one, mammals can fully open up or entirely shut down. Mariah was getting it all off her chest.

 

“That hotel you found him in. Popular place to buy drugs and whores, right?” Nick and Judy said nothing. The zebra emitted a laugh so short and harsh it was akin to a cough. “Oh, don’t you two give me that shit. I know it was. I’ve seen Matt go in there more than once and not for whole nights either.”

 

“You were following him,” Judy inquired.

 

“Of course I did. Not the first time I’ve followed him to this hotel. I would make sure he would walk back out every time. Places like this, doing God knows what in there, it’s anything but safe and he wasn’t the first found dead in there and won’t be the last.”

 

“Do you know why he would purposefully go in to the Sands Hotel then?” Nick asked

 

“Like I said, Matt was a pretty troubled male. We didn’t have a good upbringing. Didn’t have a mom. Dad was a drinker. And a fiend. You could say it was his way or a black eye, and being a zebra” – she motioned to the black strip that happened to fall squarely over both eyes – “well, Matt received plenty of Dad’s ‘tuning up.’ It also meant that we both were expected to believe and follow his word like law.” She paused for a moment. “My father was incredibly speciest. Thought predators were nothing more than natural born killers, savages playing pretend civilized.” She looked at Nick, who held her gaze. “I couldn’t bring myself to hate like he did. I saw what it did to him. What it did to Matt. And I just couldn’t do it, take on and foster that hate.” Nick saw it in her eyes, the truth behind those words, and again, felt empathy.

 

“But Matt. My father physically and emotionally beat the hate into Matt. Probably because he was male. Probably because both Matt and my father had the sinking suspicion that my brother was gay.” She paused, taking a sip. “I’m positive that’s why he came here.”

 

“Because he was gay?” Judy asked, now starting to write.

 

“Because my brother was a tortured soul that hated himself and the poor souls in this city. My father’s hate and misery. It was a disease, a virus. I didn’t get it, thank god. But Matt did. It passed right on to my brother. I never saw my brother go on any dates with any female zebras. Twice, at bars, I saw him drunk and talking with male preds. Two coyotes with boyish figures. Against the hateful rhetoric he believed in when he was sober.”

 

“You’re telling us that your brother was a speciest, closeted homosexual . . . That’s what this all is?” Nick asked, trying to make it come off as gently and non accusatory as possible.

 

“And a predophile to top it off.” Mariah started drinking her pomegranate juice again, gulp after gulp to stop talking. “Between the two coyotes the I saw him rendezvous with at the bar and that male jackal I’ve seen with him, Matt enjoyed mammals with sharp teeth. And the only way he could find that kind of company was with money.”

 

‘”That’s quite . . . a lot. I’m so sorry to hear this,” Judy said. She felt ill. She couldn’t imagine someone so broken in self loathing, so hated by himself and by society that he thought that a hotel room and money could bring him happiness. Judy put her small grey paw on the zebra’s hoof. Mariah let it rest there. The tears had resumed, and she continued.

 

“I don’t know it any of that will help. I hope it does. I have needed to tell somebody about Matt for too long, now. I should have talked with him about it. Should’ve reached out.”

 

“You two weren’t close . . . ?” Nick prodded.

 

The zebra shook her head. “No, we weren’t great siblings to each other. More fights than normal, less normality, less dependency. Too many burnt bridges. Hatred has a strong relationship with fire. The past few years I tried reaching out again, and he kinda welcomed it. Kinda. Two mammals talking across an expanse that was once a bridge. But I could see him getting worse and worse. I tried keeping tabs on him. But I should have tried harder. God damnit, I should have said something to him. Should’ve told him that it was okay, and that he wasn’t sick. That I loved him all the same. Anything that would have not made him go back into that hotel.”

 

And then the sobs came on, heavy and unrelenting. In the emotional release, Mariah knocked her cup off the table, shattering and spilling on the ground. Judy held Mariah’s hands while she wept. Nick stared at the new river of red running across the cracked concrete, spreading out, filling fissures, almost searching to meet their feet. He thought of the river that had flowed out of Matthew Feldman, how it had almost snaked to the door across several feet, like it was looking to be found or find someone, and lifted his own feet off the ground.

 

~

 

The officers exchanged their cards with her, and she gave them her address and phone number. Further questions revealed nothing else helpful. That day, Mariah had followed Matt to the Sands, only to see him walk into the hotel alone. They thanked the zebra for her time, and promised that it was helpful information despite the zebra’s doubts otherwise. They parted ways, the zebra saying she needed some air to clear her head. Judy and Nick checked her alibi at the places she had stayed at and observed Matt that day and days previous. All owners affirmed her alibi. Oh yeah, that female zebra. Yeah comes here every now and then, looking like she’s waiting for someone but always just leaves by herself, lookin disappointed.

 

As they walked back to their car, Dr. Kaufman called Nick. “And she has a new favorite,” he boasted, showing Judy the caller ID. Judy scoffed and he answered the incoming call.

 

“My good doctor! Calling because you got tired of hitting up Judiful and wanted to hear the dashing yet rogue voice of the city’s first vulpine officer?”

 

“Mr. Wilde, I’ll inform you that I may be getting on in my years but my quills still have their hooks. And no, I only called you this time so you wouldn’t feel left out with how much I call Judy. Put me on speaker phone, dear.” He grinned and did so.

 

“Where are you two right now?” Dr. Kaufman asked.

 

“Heading back to the squad car near the scene of a dead zebra heading your way,” was Nick’s reply.

 

“More like arrived and examined, dear. And wouldn’t you know it, I just got off the phone with IA and that the deceased’s sister gave us permission to search his belongings. A quick cursory search through his phone, and the chief would like me to pass onto to you two that you are now the official lead investigators of this string of recent homicides.”

 

Nick and Judy gave each blank looks. “What do you mean by ‘string of homicides’?” Judy asked.

 

“Well, the evidence strongly supports that all three victims knew each other and therefore their homicides may be directly connected. Reading through text messages of Simon DuLarge revealed that he was in very brief contact with both Marcy Kelt and Matthew Feldman.”

 

“You’re shitting me,” Nick breathed, pupils dilating.

 

“I shit you not, dear. Unfortunately, their exchanges were very cryptic and brief. No direct or even indirect mention of what, per se, but it would seem that they all knew something bad was going to happen to them, and soon. Simon had actually texted Marcy to meet him at the coffee joint both we and Marcy found him at. The squirrel had also briefly contacted Matthew Feldman before that, and I quote:

 

“From Simon to Matthew: I’ve heard you were in on it. Please, I know I can’t be the only one. We need to talk. I think someone’s been following me.

 

“Next, the response from Matthew, which corresponds to his own text record.

 

“From Matthew to Simon: Fuck off. I’m too fucking tired to deal with it anymore. I don’t give a shit. Nothing’s going to happen so I’m going to go drinking. Have a nice life.”

 

Dr. Kaufman inhaled, “And that’s it. But, this is evidence proving all three victims were connected. The chance of these being separate instances have shrunk exponentially.”

 

Nick felt slightly numb. Judy’s heart was racing. “Anything else, Dr. Kaufman,” Nick asked, sounding slightly winded.

 

“Yes, but they’re more details for your report. It was a knife in the back of Mr. Feldman’s head. Pierced right behind the ear, through the skull, and into the top of the brainstem, also severing the internal jugular. Hence all of the blood. Likely resulted in instantaneous death. I find the act incredibly noteworthy though. The precision executed again here is almost surgical. Just like how Marcy Kelt’s throat was slashed.

 

“And the knife. I’ve never seen anything like it. There are no brand marks on it, no stamps or marks or dates of ‘product of’ or anything. It looks to be handmade, but forged by an actual blacksmith, not some shoddy first go at the forge anyway. The craftsmanship is impeccable. I’ll have it with me when you two get a chance. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else that can’t wait. Ciao.” The porcupine hung up, leaving Nick and Judy sitting in the squad car. Nick pocketed his phone and looked at his partner.

 

“What are two things that all three have in common?” he asked her.

 

“All prey mammals and both Marcy and Matthew certainly weren’t tolerant of predators. How much you want to bet either through his phone or laptop we’ll find evidence that Simon inherited his father’s views on preds?”

 

“Two’s a fluke, three’s a pattern,” Nick mused. “You don’t honestly think . . .?” he led on.

 

“I’m starting to, and I know you’re thinking the same thing,” Judy affirmed, starting the engine. Nick pinched his brow, and felt a knot of genuine worry and disgust start to ferment in his gut. “Bogo’s gonna love hearing this,” he groaned as he rolled down the window and started panting.

 

There was a serial killer loose in Zootopia, and the duo had caught the trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our duo has arrived at something tangible in their case! And maybe, just maybe, a lead. I hope to God i'm not botching this too badly; as much as i'm absolutely loving writing this (i'm so excited for where this is going and i'm already starting to think of the next installments that will follow this one), im finding it pretty tough to strike the right balance between Wildehopps/murder mystery/racism/pop culture references/everything else i'm trying to fit in here. As always, please feel welcomed to leave comments as they are a joy to read and respond to!


	6. Prelude to Date Night

Judy and Nick sat in Chief Bogo’s office. Because of their size relative to the ‘normal’ sized chairs at his desk, the pair sat side-by-side on one wooden chair. The Chief stared at them, eyes burning and nostrils flaring.

 

“Let me get this straight. Just . . . let me run it by you the two of you one more time, just to make sure we are all on the same page,” he breathed with audible force. Nick and Judy feebly nodded in unison.

 

“You suspect that there is a serial killer operating in the city, with three victims who all knew each other being his or her kick off point. This mammal’s MO is targeting speciest prey animals, of which all the victims were.” Turns out, Simon DuLarge’s internet browser was filled to the brim with hotkeys leading to prey supremacist websites he frequented and posted colorful rants and tirades on.

 

“And you’re both telling me that the investigation is in danger of going cold, that is, as of this moment, there are no leads or witnesses?” He sounded one word away from detonating like a poorly rigged explosive on the pair, his hooves in tight calloused balls on his mahogany desk.

 

“That’s right,” Nick said in a tone a little too chipper. “The crowd from the security footage of the subway platform was packed to the gills. We see Marcy Kelt, then there’s the crowd our gazelle was enveloped in, and the next time we see her, the crowd opens up into a circle with said gazelle bleeding out in the middle of a train car.” This was the unfortunate and damning truth of the matter. Nick and Judy had reviewed the same footage over forty times in an attempt to see what exactly happened as the crowds exchanged on the platform. They arrived at nothing worth a second glance. One blurry moment, Marcy Kelt was alive and well. The next, not so much.

 

“Same goes for Simon DuLarge. No witnesses have come forward and we couldn’t get anything noteworthy from the staff. That café is packed every morning, usually a lot of families. With a bunch of screaming kits running around, no one would notice a brief scream from a burning, drowning squirrel. Also very likely that no one paid any attention to a squirrel that’s there one moment, gone the next. Rodents like to move quick and often, you know?”

 

A very audible exhalation, as hot as car exhaust on a summer evening from their Chief. “And the zebra? Matthew Feldman?”

 

“The hotel he was in wasn’t the most up to date,” Judy answered, giving Nick a break from the hot seat. “No security cameras, they took cash and you didn’t even have to sign a guest book. Back exit didn’t have an alarm installed, and Feldman’s sister who has a solid alibi and was following him out of worry, only saw him enter alone. We’re thinking his killer entered and left through the rear exit. Not a robbery since Feldman’s wallet still had cash and card in it when we found him. CSI found a dozen or so strands of different hairs since cleaning was also a last priority to the hotel. They’re running DNA tests now.”

 

“A lot of circumstantial evidence, then,” the Chief mused, getting more and more frustrated with the ‘progress’ of the case he had assigned them.

 

“We do have this, though,” Nick produced an evidence bag with the knife extracted from Matthew Feldman’s skull. Dr. Kaufman had been right. No markings or telling of who or where the bladed was made. It was all one uniform piece, the blade an extension of the handle. The handle itself was a skeletal, metal outline with the occasional strut from one side of the handle to the other. The knife was double edged, rusted with dried blood, and lightly caked in white and black hairs.

 

“A knife that you can’t trace and has no paw prints on it whatsoever?” The Chief deadpanned.

 

Nick turned to Judy in a _fuck it here goes everything_ look before turning back to Chief Bogo.

 

“You see,” Nick started in the tone Judy recognized as the one he used the first time he met her in the ice cream parlor, polite and gentle, trying to not sound like a fox. “I do think I can trace where this came from, using an old contact of mine –“

 

Bogo interrupted, “That this department nor Chief of Police would not otherwise condone should it in any way endanger or compromise the staff, officers, relations, ongoing investigations, and all mammals associated with the ZPD.” He glared down at the fox, and despite being usually able to handle himself under such pressure, Nick felt the temperature rise around his neck.

 

“Of course, all that jazz goes without saying, butttttt, I think I can ask a favor and maybe we can see who made this knife.”

 

“And have you established how your suspected serial killer has been able to find the three deceased?”

 

Judy almost said ‘no’ which would have absolutely thrown them further down into the grave they were surely digging at this point, but Nick beat her to the punch with something only a small degree better. “Working on that.”

 

The Chief exhaled loudly through his nostrils, bringing his hooves up to cover his face. Judy and Nick waited for five seconds to hear his response, which felt like five grueling minutes. “Anything else, Officers Wilde and Hopps?” Bogo asked, punctuating the space between each word.

 

Unlike the first time, Nick didn’t wait long enough to say it on the second go around. “Well, the contact in question will absolutely know if there are other officers around us and will scatter if they as so much suspect police presence so Hopps and I will have to go it alone. We definitely shouldn’t wear any police clothing or gear aside from bringing our badges and primary and secondary arms. Maybe not even the tranqs. Only police carry those, everyone else carries guns or knives or their natural defenses. Also no radio either. They’ll likely frisk us for wires. So communication with the ZPD will be temporarily suspended – “

 

Match, meet gasoline.

 

“Absolutely! Not!” Bogo yelled, slamming his hooves down onto his desk, rattling everything on the surface. “Officer Wilde, you are asking me to send you two to an unspecified area to meet an unspecified contact that may or may not ask for an illegal favor in exchange for information on a supposed blacksmith! And all without the possibility of back up?!”

 

“With all due respect Chief, yes, that’s exactly right,” said Nick through a smile, “although I’m sure I’ll be able to swing the illegal favor in lieu of a perfectly legal one.”

 

The Chief’s arms were tense as springs. Even through his light fur, veins were starting to rise on his arms.

 

“Why should I approve this venture?” Was the Chief’s response through clenched teeth.

 

“Because it’s literally the only lead we have right now,” answered Nick.

 

“Because the last time you let me off the chain, myself and Officer Wilde managed to stop the Nighthowler incident from coming to fruition,” Judy replied, also trying to smile to win their Chief over. Not that she had ever heard of smiling doing the trick, but shit, they were in the hole and as her collar began accumulating more sweat than necessary, it was better than nothing.

 

They waited, the chief refusing to look anywhere other than his two officers. Neither Nick nor Judy dared breathed.

 

Their two answers worked. Enough to pass, anyway. For all of the cases he had both been directly involved in and overseen as Chief of Precinct One, Bogo had to admit Hopps’ and Wilde’s first was one for the books. He also had heard that the case was going to be made into a movie, a big studio backing the production. And since then, they had proven exceptionally competent at their jobs. Although he would never admit to the both of them, especially that wise-ass Wilde.

 

And now a serial killer. Add that to the growing list of pains in his ass he saw no closure coming on the horizon.

 

The Chief thought for another moment, before sighing, letting his anger slowly deflate. “Alright. Alright, I’ll approve of some ‘official off-time’ for the both of you. Give you some time to check on this ‘lead’ Officer Wilde is insistent that will prove useful to the investigation.”

 

Nick and Judy went to say ‘thank you’, but Bogo held up a hoof to stop them. The Chief then pointed down to the pair. “For the time you are following this lead, you are off duty cops, but you are still cops. And I trust that you both will make rational and legal decisions in this matter that will only result in you bringing further closure to this case. Am I being perfectly clear?”

 

“Crystal,” both said in unison.

 

“Then get out, and go file this case under Major Crimes,” Bogo said as he put on his readers and began skimming the next item on his desk. The pair did as he asked, with Nick grabbing their evidence.

 

Outside his office, they grinned excitedly at each other, Nick holding out his paw in a high five and Judy eagerly meeting it.

 

“Wow, I can’t believe he went for it, I was sure we were losing that argument and case for a minute,” breathed Judy.

 

“Please, I had it under control the whole time. Had him practically in the palm of my hand,” explained the fox, who was walking with a little more swagger in his step as if he had pulled a successful con.

 

“I’ll let you believe it,” was his partners response, mostly because she couldn’t bring herself to end how cute Nick looked when he was proud of himself, even if the walk was a somewhat self aware. “So, what’s the plan, considering you just walked us in there telling me that you had a plan but never explained said plan?”

 

“First step, go home, change into regular clothes. And now that I think about it, leave your ZPD issued firearm at your apartment. Bring a small weapon, easily concealable.”

 

“Are you honestly expecting trouble?”

 

“Honestly? No, but it never hurts to be safe now does it, Officer Fluff? So, back to the plan. Once you’re all set, wait a while and get on the 8:30 Zootopia Loop and get off at the Harbor Street stop. I’ll be on the same train and will come find you before we get off.”

 

“That seems like a quick recipe for us to lose each other,” Judy warned.

 

“Yeah, it probably is. Best case scenario, we find each other on the train. Worst case scenario, we wind up taking rather expensive Zubers to Bourbon Street at that place we were talking about earlier.” Nick let her think on it a moment. And then let his lips peel into a grin as Judy balled her shaking fists and did a jump for joy. “Oh my God Nick the place we’re going is IN the Nocturnal District?!”

 

“Serendipitous, don’t you think?” Secretly, he also wanted to do a little jump for joy that he was heading to an admittedly great place with Judy, but kept the cool exterior on for the show of it.

 

“So long as this meet up goes better than we when first met Mr. Big.” She had meant it as a light joke, but Judy’s heart dropped when she saw Nick making a very serious, thoughtful face, as though contemplating if it would go better then their first venture into the underworld. In an instant, his smile returned.

 

“Nope, should go smoothly. Unlike Mr. Big at the time, I’m on good terms with this one.”

 

_With. This. One,_ thought Judy, the excitement starting to fade. “Slightly reassuring, and also not too reassuring. Who are we going to meet? Another one of the Big Five?”

 

“No, although he’s certainly powerful enough to be grouped in with the Families and I’d be surprised if the ZPD isn’t keeping an ear to the ground for him.”

 

The sinking feeling returned in Judy’s stomach. “Greatttt. I’m so excited for our first foray into this new and exciting area with a dangerous and powerful criminal. All without backup.” If there was a lesson learned about police-crime family relations, it was that agitating a crime boss would likely lead to death, even for police officers, something she had thought of as a movie myth before meeting the city’s deadliest arctic shrew. “Before we head out, I’m going to go file this case under major crimes. Wanna come?”

 

“Nope,” Nick said cheerfully as he strode away. “That’s all you carrots.”

 

“Why not!?”

 

“You’re much better at paper work then I am. And crossing all the T’s and dotting the I’s cramps my style. Fits yours, though,” he smiled over his shoulder at the crossway of their respective paths. She huffed as she watched her partner stroll down to the front desk to hit up his local source of scuttle, a plus sized cheetah who squealed in delight at seeing a comrade in arms to trade – well, more divulge – office rumors with. Although Nick was more the type to just listen and not tell, not that Clawhauser minded.

 

Ascending two flights of stairs to reach the major crimes division, her recounting their orders suddenly dawned on her. Judy actually stopped on the steps, mouth hanging open.

 

Holy. Shit.

 

If they were being asked to file the case under a major crime, that would mean solving it would automatically put both her and Nick up for promotion.

 

They would make detective each if they managed to solve this case. Judy couldn’t stop the wide smile from dawning across her face as she near bounced into the Major Crimes department.

 

~

 

Emilia Clarke sat in the back of the back portion of the newsroom, behind where all of the cameras and sound equipment were positioned. She was watching the two anchors of ZNN, Peter Moosebridge and Fabienne Growley prepare for their evening address to the city. A ‘come-and-see’ tour she had won from her office. Part of the young coyote was extremely excited. She was actually seeing, in person, _the_ Peter Moosebridge and _the_ Fabienne Growley, although the real object of attention and affection was the latter. The snow leopard was every female journalist’s icon; someone who came from the bottom and worked her way all the way to the top, being both a female and a pred in an industry dominated by male prey mammals, no less. How easy on any eyes she was and how she carried herself was no small contribution to her success either. Elegant, articulate, gorgeous, wealthy, successful; Fabienne Growley was living proof of former Mayor Lionheart’s campaign slogan regarding their city, where anyone can be anything.

 

And right now, Emilia Clarke, a young coyote who wanted nothing more than to be like Fabienne Growley, was at the bottom of the proverbial climb and heading nowhere fast. Glowing letters of recommendation from her professors in undergrad had landed her the job at the Zootopia Times, and with immediacy, she had been resigned to the end pages, where print went to die. And there it seemed, for the past three years, she had sat, her spirit crumbling, and any story she found that was approved being regarded to a footnote at best.

 

_You want to publish front page? Bring me something mammals will want to read that isn’t tabloid trash._ She might as well have her editor’s words tattooed on her ass on account of how many times she had heard them.

 

Yup, just shave a patch on my left cheek and print it in Helvetica 10-font, she thought.

 

Her pocket vibrated. The young reporter looked at her phone. A text message from a ~~business associate~~ ‘low-life shit’ inside the ZPD. A fellow coyote named Danny Powell, a lab technician, who she had appropriately renamed in her contacts after her favorite band.

 

_Skeevy Dan: What was that about ‘needing a big break?’_

 

_Emilia Clarke: You have something that isn’t more gangbanger’s shooting each other or another run-of-the-mill break in?_

_Skeevy Dan: more like it’ll put you on the front page of the Times._

_Emilia Clarke: Is that right? What do you have?_

_Skeevy Dan: Are serial killers still a big hit in today’s news?_

Emilia felt her throat go dry and her heart rate pick up a beat. She could hear murmuring from staff around her about bullshit that no longer seemed as interesting.

 

_Emilia Clarke: Bullshit_

_Skeevy Dan: I wouldn’t shit you. But I’m going to need payment for the info._

_Emilia Clarke: You screenshot any of this and I’ll be screaming sexual harassment._

 

The female coyote quickly made to the bathroom, got into a stall, took off her shirt and bra, and sent the male a headless, topless snap set to 10 seconds. She knew that it was best to just set it at 10. No sense in arguing about the timer otherwise.

 

She waited until the timer on her phone counted down to 0, with no message of _screenshot taken!_ Her texted her a moment later.

 

_Skeevy Dan: Seriously, I’ll give you the victim’s names and the killer’s supposed MO. You can do a whole lot better than that._

_Emilia Clarke: Where did you hear this?_

_Skeevy Dan: overheard the Chief talking with two beat officers about it, and they think this killer’s just getting started. You want the info or not?_

The first argument to pop into Emilia’s head was _three years and no change. Three years and the same shit pay and the same steadily increasing student loans. Three years and no good story. Three years, and less and less joy in life._

She had also heard another reporter, a female whitetail deer mutter under her breath, _there always has to be somebody on page 12_. The comment still made her blood boil, and for once, she wished she was back in that shitty high school with that doe so that she could carve her name into the bitch’s hide.

 

But she couldn’t, and Clarke knew she was staring at more long, painful, and humiliating years on the backburner, an indefinite timespan unless something fell into her lap. There was nothing else on the table, just a single cup that would cost a piece of her dignity.

 

_Emilia Clarke: Remember, sexual harassment allegations will cost you your job._ She wondered if it really would, but Dan was too socially withdrawn and pathetic to actually try and call her out on the threat.

 

With that, she brought her pants and her underwear down to her ankles, opened her legs, and spread her labia with her free paw and took another snap with the other, making sure to leave her face out of that one, too. This one sent with 8 seconds on the timer, because Fuck you Dan you goddamn creep.

 

At least I’m not giving out blowjobs to get this _,_ she thought. At the end of the timer, again with no _screenshot taken!_ message, Danny sent her the three names and the supposed motive linking them.

 

It was definitely something. Emilia had actually read about the coffee cup squirrel and the subway gazelle, but the zebra in the hotel was new. And there was a motive for all three murders, something any pred supremacist group or twisted extremist would gladly approve of. Alright, it was definitely something.

 

Pulling her pants and underwear back up, the coyote walked back to the newsroom, feeling something in her mind that felt a little too foreign. A fleeting rush of excitement. An adrenaline surge at the prospect of making it big in a city where anyone can be anything.

 

~

 

Judy stopped at the Major Crimes Department, standing in front of the boss of the select detectives that worked there. In her time at the police department, Judy had learned that there were three mammals that commanded absolute respect from their authority alone: Police Chief Bogo, the imposing cape buffalo that was head of precinct one, Heidi Lynch, the head investigator of Internal Affairs, and the mammal that now stood in front of her. A male cheetah that was almost as tall as Bogo, yet thin as a wisp and who smiled just as often. The end of his tail curled up and relaxed at the speed of the world’s slowest yo-yo. Hands folded behind his back, he stared down at her.

 

“Good afternoon, Captain Ashmore.” Judy greeted him, purposefully wiping any hint of good humor from her face and voice. She had heard that Bogo had selected the cheetah years ago for heading and resolving an abduction case of an oil baron’s two daughters. Upon both of their safe returns into police safety and subsequent take down of the perpetrators, said oil baron made an exceptionally large donation to the ZPD. A donation that had paid for not only new cruisers for the entirety of Precinct one but for an entire security overhaul of the building itself. All it takes is a single case, and the male in front of her was testament of that. Captain Ashmore had a personality as warm as Bogo’s as well as the cape buffalo’s capacity for humor. Everyone suspected that was part of the reason why they got along so well. Unlike Bogo, who secretly yet genuinely did care for his officers, Captain Ashmore seemed to merely tolerate all below him.

 

“Officer Hopps. The Chief has informed me that a case will be filed under my division’s umbrella of procedural importance and will be further investigated by both you and Officer Wilde. He has assured me that the investigation can be handled by both of you. Is this correct?”

 

“Yes sir it is,” Judy said, keeping her voice calm and even, refusing to break eye contact with the cheetah despite how a buried part of her was yelling that it would be wise to do so. She was craning her neck just to maintain the show of equal authority. That, and he was the one predator superior of hers, and he smelled . . . not frightening, but lethal. Dangerous. Her instincts were also telling her that he was the one mammal that could absolutely out run her if he needed to, and that was ever so slightly just a pinch terrifying. There had never been another mammal that she could probably outrun in her life before.

 

“Serial killer, is that yours and Officer Wilde’s current understanding of the matter?”

 

“Yes sir, the three murder profiles appear to fit a habitual killer’s MO against outwardly speciest prey mammals, of which all three victims were.”

 

The cheetah regarded this for a moment. “Have you deduced how this killer found all three victims?”

 

Judy channeled Nick for that answer. “Working on that.”

 

He ever so slightly raised his eyebrows. “Curious.”

 

The cheetah then regarded her for a moment longer, amber eyes narrowing at her, before giving a single nod, up then down then centered. He began moving by her in long and elegant strides.

 

“I’ll leave you to go and file your case under the ‘active cases’ bulletin then,” Captain Ashmore concluded in a voice neatly monotone with a hint of casual dismissal. Judy took it as the end of their conversation and introduction, saying “sir” in way of farewell, and headed into the active cases room.

 

Inside were six very large whiteboards, all but one splattered in an array of photographs, notes of varying sizes and content, lines, circles, question marks, and basic case file information.

 

She passed three of the boards, briefly gleaming the main gist from each one.

 

A military shipping container that went missing into thin air at the Docks. Contents: classified. There were several expletives written around that last comment, as well as a list of contacts within the military the detectives were working with.

 

A bank robbery from the Monarch Douglas Bank in Downtown that occurred nearly a decade ago, with none of the robbers identified and 4.5 million in cash still unaccounted for.

 

A still-at-large ram with the supposed alias of ‘Doug’, who was the first known mammal to synthesize the Nighthowler toxin from the plant base. Judy recalled her recounting every detail about him and the lab to both Internal Affairs, the detectives in Major Crimes, and even two mammals from the ZIA. Over and over again. _You said his name was just ‘Doug’? That’s it?_ She still kicked herself for not having done something about that lose end, like having the foresight to have grabbed his cellphone before the train car erupted in flame. But hindsight is 20/20. There was a side note on how quiet Bellwether had been in custody, refusing to divulge any information about her plot, even in exchange for plea bargains. Note a word. Only screaming and angry silences. A scenario extremely concerning to a whole lot of mammals. Dawn had her mug shot pinned in that cacophony.

 

Judy walked to the cleared board at the back of the room, and began tacking the deceased mammals pictures to the board and writing out the information relevant for each one. Towards the bottom, she made a small note for the rest of the department.

 

**Case assigned: Officers Judy Hopps & Nick Wilde. **

She stepped back, observing their case personified to a large and ugly portrait. There was a terrible story here, something really awful and wretched, and come hell or high water, she and Nick would see it to the end.

 

~

 

Neither said it was a date, and both certainly wouldn’t want to make a fool of themselves by assuming that it was essentially a paid date, but they both prepared for their evening by assuming that they were both going on a dangerous date nonetheless. Nick dressed himself in a casual long-sleeved canvas shirt in conjunction with dark pants. Hidden under his canvas shirt was a white cotton tank top and a shoulder holster for a Taurus Judge revolver loaded with .410 shotshell. Judy put on compression shorts under a mid length violet colored summer dress. Under her dress in a thigh holster Judy tucked a Sig Sauer P238 chambering .380 ACP with glow in the dark iron sights. Nick teased her about her off duty purchase since he could see in the dark and subsequently learned that rabbits could not and teased her almost ever other day when the sun was setting. _Oh no, lookit that Carrots, sun’s about to go down. Looks like you’re gonna have to rely on your fox from here on out, since, you know, you can’t see jack in the dark._

 

Yeah well, turns out a fox’s hearing is no where near as good as a rabbits, she thought to herself, adjusting her dress and thigh holster to make sure the firearm was hidden against the outside of her thigh.

 

And now she was dressed, and had about half an hour to kill before needing to head to the train station. Judy flopped back down onto her bed. Nick had told her that tonight shouldn’t be a purposefully dangerous endeavor, and that it should go off without a hitch. Yet she still felt a twinge of adrenaline ghosting her stomach, chest, and legs. She knew that it was partly because for the first time in quite a long time, she was dressed in feminine attire. And she was so excited for Nick to see her in something other than her police uniform.

 

She jumped up from her bed and examined herself in the mirror for the seventh – well, eighth – time, inspecting each angle, her neck, chest, legs, rear, to make sure that each possible angle he could see her from would look just as wonderful and flowing as the last. After the umpteenth wardrobe check, she decided that the outfit was serve all purposes for the night. And that her bra and panties were matching was a plus. But that is mostly for me, she thought, not for Nick. Definitely not for Nick, who is

 

_(More than)_

Your best friend. Your incredibly sexy and handsome vulpine best friend with the world’s greatest smile and eyes. She felt a small quiver in her center.

 

Judy let a paw run down her chest and over her stomach. Even through the relatively thin clothe, she felt the heightened sense of touch reverberate through her hand and into her head as she reached under her underwear and pressed her fingers against her swelling lips, that warm and comforting heat.

 

Judy sighed quietly as the feeling of a building sexual pressure began to mount against her pelvic floor. She looked at the clock. 8:05. She had about ten minutes to spare. Plenty of time.

 

Still standing, Judy set her firearm on the desk, wiggled her underwear and shorts down to her knees (there was already a small wet spot in the center of her underwear) and began slowly massaging the outer folds of her labia, using her other paw to prop herself up against the wall. Her breathing was slow and hitching, soft moans began escaping from her mouth as she continued to rub her folds and positioned her clit between her pointer and middle finger, let the lengths of her fingers get the most surface contact from her body.

 

The bottom **U** of her sex began to drip in her growing excitement, and she began to rub faster and press harder as her imagination began to kick into gear. She imagined a red paw snake across her outstretched arm from behind her, sharp claws easily parting her short hair and running gently against her skin.

 

Her mind’s eye envisioned Nick pressing flat against her, having his other arm wrap around her waist, feel his hot breath against her neck, teeth not even an inch away. She could feel the wave building in her muscles, beginning to gain traction and speed. She imagined him whispering in her ear.

 

_I knew I smelled something familiar. I first got a whiff of it in the museum, when I faked going savage. Should’ve known there was a little more behind your insistence that I should feel free to play it up, bring out my teeth, growl, bite you. If our circumstance then weren’t so dire, I’d bet you would’ve wanted me to be naked to really fit the role, Carrots._

 

The thought of a naked Nick on all fours, advancing towards her, semi coherent yet partial to more basic and feral tendencies elicited a loud moan from Judy. Her fingers were now slick, the friction beginning to decrease so she picked up the speed of her rubbing her aching center faster. She felt her clitoris begin to swell and almost pulse, aching for the rapidly growing pressure of sexual release.

 

She heard Nick again, imagined his paw, so unique and different than hers with paw pads and sharp claws, coming to her rear and grabbing at her butt, claws puncturing the fabric of her dress.

 

_I also may have peaked at your phone, Fluff. You didn’t close your last internet browsing session. So, you’ve been curious about vulpine anatomy . . . like what you found? Curious? Because I’d be willing to bet you searched for more than just pictures of fox dicks. Mating videos of the homemade variety sound familiar? And what was that one you have bookmarked?_

 

Judy yelped as her two fingers, slick from her increasing arousal, slipped into her heat. That was it, the final levy on the dam beginning to break free. She could feel the orgasm begin surfacing, pulling from her clit and out into her sex. She began rapidly pumping her fingers in and out of her center, feeling her body greedily trying to pull her digits deeper into her. Her moans devolved into hitched whimpers and she quickly climbed to the peak.

 

_Ah, here’s the video. Fox knots rabbit mate as she screams through her orgasm. Is there a name you imagine the fox having while you picture yourself being the doe getting fucked senseless in this video?_

 

“Niiiiiiick,” Judy said his name in a forcefully hushed whimper, strained from trying to keep from screaming his name as loud as she wanted in her apartment. Her fingers hooked inside of her, pressing onto her g-spot. Her vision shook and blurred as the orgasm rolled through her, pulsing in hot waves from her clit outwards through her pelvis, legs, stomach, and up into her head and to the tops of her ears. Her thighs and knees buckled together, pushing her hand harder against her now dripping sex and driving her fingers a little deeper into her as she slid to a sitting-on-the-knees position on her floor. A small aftershock orgasm quickly ran through her, and she dragged her still outstretched and now trembling arm down against her dresser, her small nails barely scratching on the wallpaper.

 

She sat for a moment, so content in the orgasmic bliss. _Helluva lot better than a cold shower_ , she thought, grinning. Judy checked her watch to see how she was doing on time.

 

In a moment her smile vanished. _SHIT! Oh Shit oh shit! Train leaves at 8:30. It’s already 8:20!_

 

Judy bolted up, producing a small squeak when her fingers quickly vacated out of her. She made to just pull her underwear and pants back up when the raunchy smell of sex had really made itself known in her tiny apartment.

 

_How to embarrass yourself on a train full of strangers and in front of Nick 101_ , she thought. _Just hop on the train and within a minute it’ll stink of female rabbit heat._

 

She quickly pulled off her bottoms and oh yeah, she could absolutely not get away with the underwear. The shorts were still good – well, good enough – they ever so gently smelled of turned-on doe.

 

Cursing now, since now her bra and panties now weren’t matching, she threw her ensemble together, remembering her gun, grabbed her clutch and headed out the door.

 

~

 

Nick examined his claws as he began moving through the train cars, nervously extending them out from his paw then retracting them, buffing them against his the fur of his neck, all while judiciously sniffing the air for the rabbit. To other preds on the train, he looked perfectly normal, a nervous tick while probably trying to find someone he knew. To most of the prey animals, they saw a low life schemer with a set of built in pocket knives in his fingers, sniffing at the air for the weakest mammal he could find. Smaller mammals pulled their children closer as he neared, fathers shooting daggers at him, mothers trying to put on brave faces in front of their clueless kits.

 

Judy had texted him saying that she had made it onto the train. He returned with a ‘stay put, I’ll find you’ text. One train car after the next, the moment the doors opened to the next one, he’d inhale, his nose being assaulted by the scents of dozens upon dozens of different mammals, pred and prey, male and female, young and old. Yet no rabbit. It was almost a little fun, getting to play a pseudo game of hide-and-seek.

 

He walked into the fourth train car, and smelled her first amongst the miasma of other scents. There it was, the sweet and succulent scent of spring fields mixed with the bright and invigorating aroma of pine. And . . . something very heady and savory and female that made his hindbrain kick on, sending sparks through his legs and paws, urging him to find her as quick as possible.

 

Nick looked to the back of the train car, a grey rabbit sitting by herself, looking out the window. Judy turned as she heard the fox approaching. The pair stopped short and stared at each other.

 

_Good God above he is handsome,_ thought the rabbit. _Like holy shit I thought he looked good in his blues but he is absolutely rocking that casual look. He would look even better without the tank top and with that canvas shirt open. My god his cream colored fur actually matches his shirt._

 

_Wow. Just . . . wow. Nick Wilde, if you weren’t in trouble then, you most definitely are now,_ the fox thought. _And why oh why does she smell a little more . . . horny . . . than normal?_ Judy caught the pause in his mannerisms, internally delighted that her outfit was proving successful.

 

When his capacity for speech finally returned, (and he pushed the question of why Judy still smelled so damn intoxicating to the back burner) what came out from his mouth had a slightly teasing tone to it. “Carrots, did you dress up just for me?” _Smooth Wilde, why don’t you just get down on your knees and confess you’re absolutely hopeless when it comes to this bunny to the whole goddamn train car?_

 

To his relief, Judy grinned back and returned, “I’m amazed you have anything other than your uniform and those ugly-as-sin Hawaiian shirts.”

 

He faked a shocked expression. “Madam, I’ll have you know that those ‘ugly-as-sin’ shirts, as you put it, are timeless icons of fashion that go well in any occasion and will definitely make a come back.” His mock expression fell into a smile as Judy let out a small laugh.

 

“You uh, you look good – I mean, you really look great, by the by,” Nick stammered out, momentarily losing his bravado.

 

Judy gave him quick elevator eyes along with a hooded smile. “You clean up nicely too, Wilde. You gonna have a seat or stand the whole way?” It was never often that Judy got the upper hand when it came to smooth talking the fox, and she’d be damned if she didn’t get to play it up just a little. To her joyed chagrin, he immediately stumbled into the window seat across from hers.

 

After a few moments of embarrassed silence, they resumed what was building between them, what had been building between them ever since they had met. Joy in their exploration of each other’s talk and mannerisms, comfort in their similarities, excitement in what was wholly new about a fox and a rabbit, about a predator and a prey mammal. Easy conversation, playful banter, honesty, trust, and the happiness building and building between them.

 

Some mammals looked on at the pair in curiosity. A few in admiration, others in disgust and hate. Whether or not Judy or Nick noticed the stares was inconsequential; in their blissful bubble, neither gave a damn in the slightest.

 

~

 

As Judy and Nick passed Wissahout Park in the safety of the train car, eyes taking in the entire landscape and all of the mammals outside, they actually overlooked their killer and one of the next on his ‘to-do’ list.

 

Their wanted killer sat on a park bench, relatively alone, observing a wide range of mammals, but only really paying attention to one, pondering the best way to proceed.

 

The playful screaming of nearby kits briefly distracted him. A young giraffe and a bear cub were excitedly passing back and forth a soccer ball. And in a quick and unplanned double-kick motion, they inadvertently set the ball tumbling to the feet of the mammal sitting on the park bench. The soccer ball came to a stop an inch from his feet.

 

All three stopped and stared at one another. A few seconds went by. He said nothing, did nothing but stared at them. The kits stopped from approaching the mammal on the bench, keeping a few feet away from him and their ball. The mammal continued to glare at them, unmoving. His clothes don’t even flutter in the slight breeze.

 

“Uh, hey Mister. Can you pass our ball back?” the giraffe braves, wondering why he doesn’t smile, why he hasn’t given their ball back like the rest of the kind mammals at the park would have. She has unknowingly grabbed the cub’s paw in reassurance. The cub wraps his fingers around her hoof. Far away, they hear voices, other mammals chatting. There’s such a soft breeze whispering through the leaves in the nearby trees. The sun is a feverish orange slice dipping below the skyline into the Earth. And the mammal’s eyes glow with the same unnatural light, an alert yet pale yellow, making as much movement as a scarecrow.

 

More seconds go by, and the mammal on the bench doesn’t even blink. That, the giraffe decides, is why she is feeling very scared. She thought about just going up to him and getting her ball back, but her instincts tell her that would be a very, very bad move. And her mom always said to trust her instincts.

 

The sound of the kick elicits a scream out of the bear cub, the _thud_ unexpected by the kits as the soccer ball bounces from the benched animal and across the space between them. Neither even saw the mammal’s feet move. The ball comes to a stop at the children’s feet.

 

The bear cub releases his friend’s hoof, grabs the ball, and turns around, more pushing the small giraffe along with him in a way that screams _please let’s just go I don’t like this, this guy is really scary and I don’t want to be here anymore._ She fully understands this unspoken narrative and runs away with him, not wanting to spend another second near the mammal on the park bench.

 

They leave him in the relative quiet in this end of the park. He resumes paying attention to his quarry.

 

A female giraffe, just far away enough to not notice his repeated stares, sits on a blanket with another mammal, a male timber wolf. They are both having ice cream, and in a sweet gesture, the giraffe leans down and licks a missed spot of ice cream off the wolf’s muzzle. They both giggle and smile at each other.

 

The mammal hadn’t expected that – a wolf – and drummed his fingers, in deep thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that wound up being a whole lotta VERY different angles, didn't it? I promise (mostly) that i won't bounce around like that again. But, it's all relative i promise. Hope you enjoyed reading, and comments are golden! So next chapter we arrive in the Nocturnal District!


	7. From Dusk Till Dawn

They arrived at their stop, just the pair of them getting off at Harbor Street, and Judy felt her excitement about their adventure dwindling. The sun was almost gone, the buildings in the immediate view were dilapidated to the point that they would look new in that movie _I Am Legend_ , and there were only a despairingly few number of working streetlights. All other streets in the heart of the city had lighting every dozen feet. Here, the lights were in different fields of vision each. At one street she could see from the station, there were no working streetlights at all. She hoped to God that they didn’t have to walk through such a dark tunnel where she’d be the only one who couldn’t see anything.

 

The musk of many different predators permeated the air. She couldn’t detect any other prey. Her instincts screamed that this absolutely counted as a red flag. She purposefully ignored the internal warning.

 

The pair stood on the platform as the train sounded away into the growing night, leaving them under the cone of light from one singular street lamp. Judy saw no other mammals walking near the platform.

 

Judy half expected the opening credits and music of a horror film to start playing.

 

Nick looked at the rabbit next to him, ears perked up in attention, nose twitching far more than normal. He placed a paw on her shoulder. “I know you don’t think so, but this isn’t as bad as it looks.”

 

“Nick, I think I saw a picture of that street,” she pointed to the one shrouded in complete darkness, “at the academy when we discussed ‘urban decay’ and ‘exceptionally dangerous environments.’ Does anyone even live here?”

 

“Of course,” he answered while starting to walk down the platform, Judy hurrying after him. “Some are probably late sleepers, still knocked out, others are probably out and about.”

 

“And it’s so quiet because . . . ?” For the first time, Judy couldn’t even hear cars nearby. They sounded distant, off away from the apparent danger of these streets and on the safety of the highways.

 

Nick grinned. “Because predators can appreciate silence, Carrots. Don’t worry, we’ll be getting there in short order. I suspect with those radio antennae on your head you’ll hear it before I do.”

 

Judy made to argue, wanted to tell him that by bunny standards her ears were exceptionally proportionate and gorgeous and the fox had better damn well know it, but indeed, an unfamiliar and bizarre sound started to reverberate against her ears.

 

Sound waves hummed the fabric of the air, the way a claw plucks a guitar string, and the more they walked along the dark streets, the more intense the waves became. In one step, Judy identified the source; music, specifically, the song ‘Baby’s on Fire’ by Die Anteater. She could also hear the light dim of many mammals beneath the uneven tempo and sounding of the rhythm.

 

They walked as if without direction, a fox leading a rabbit into darkness, the sound of music and activity steadily growing louder. Working streetlights became more and more sparse as they continued forward. Judy felt like a kit again, nervously following an older sibling into what was certain danger.

 

In the miasma of darkness that seemed to settle on this part of the city, an extremely large building began to surface into view, towering over the suburb. A massive apartment complex, Judy counted easily more than a dozen stories in height, began to tower over them. Not a single light was on. As Judy continued to follow a half a beat behind Nick, the building began to look more and more like a monstrous monolith, dormant on the surface yet hiding any number of horrors inside.

 

“Ah, the good ol’ Hotel Stockholm. And yes, before you ask, it definitely is still in operation and is still inhabited by plenty of mammals.” Nick stopped the description right there, since The Hotel Stockholm was also a favorite meeting spot for any number of criminals, crimes syndicates, and mob families to congregate and discuss business. Any sort of laundering, smuggling, racketeering, bookmaking, document forgery, loan-sharking, gambling, prostitution, drug trafficking, and drug use, to name a few, occurred there every night. Hotel Stockholm was a hive of very dangerous and powerful mammals, and Nick knew that he and Judy had absolutely no power against it, not as two beat cops. He refrained from telling Judy more about the building, since she would immediately demand to go in and begin putting cuffs and muzzles on mammals left and right. Nick knew that most of the mammals there would rather go out in a hail of gunfire and blood then be arrested, let alone by a rabbit and a fox.

 

Thankfully, from the look on her face alone, it seemed that Judy had zero interest to go explore the Hotel, and Nick was grateful to leave it at that.

 

Nick turned into an alleyway partially blocked by a wooden fence and sandwiched by two houses that were abandoned, his small size easily bypassing underneath, Judy in tow. The music was now prominent, and she began hearing other sounds telling of a party. Voices, cheers, movement, the sound of bottles clanking together. Before reaching the other side of the alley, Nick stopped and turned towards her.

 

“I should give you a fair warning,” he started, coolly eyeing her, “you likely will be the one, if not one of two or three at most, prey mammals here. It’s gonna be all teeth, claws, and likely the occasional fight. Which we should probably not break up unless someone is about to be killed. There will also be some recreational drug use that we may see, but we should not say or do anything about that. The last thing we want to do here is outwardly announce to the whole crowd that we’re cops. That would be terrible.”

 

“And if we do have to let everyone know we’ve got badges?”

 

“Then we will very likely lose our lead, and this is the one place I know where to find him,” was his answer. Judy considered this balance for a moment before sighing. “Alright, lead the way, Wilde.” His muzzle parted in a toothy smile and he moved past the lopsided fence, and the pair entered onto Bourbon Street. She could tell part of him was absolutely enjoying this.

 

And he absolutely was. Part of the fun for Nick was watching Judy’s jaw drop and eyes widen. The street aptly named for strong alcohol was a block party in full swing. In regards to volume, it had gone from subdued to dialed at 11. Various EDM blasted from massive subwoofers that were haphazardly placed on people’s balconies in awkward stacks, forming a canyon of sound in the street. Hundreds of wires and cables crossed above the street like a spider’s web. Most of the buildings were multi-storied, barely a single story locale in site. The cloak of night was more permeating here then in center city. All of the lights for the various dives, diners, and oddity shops glowed with an 80’s vibe, bright and sharp neon aesthetics, and the lights did little to add lamination outside of their small sphere’s of influence. Heavy clouds of condensation rose up from manhole covers.

 

The crowd was a thriving mob of predators of all sizes. Their eyes glowed in the darkness, a ghostly spectrum of sharp and attentive eyes from mammals that didn’t need much light to see, reminding Judy of those deep-sea documentaries where all of the fish had some sort of bioluminescence to them. And Nick had been right about the crowd’s design. Piercings, dyed fur, shaved patches with tattoos, and aggressive clothing choices abound. Most had alcohol in one paw and either some choice of smoking consumption or another mammal’s paw in the other. She could smell some of the recreational smoking choices Nick had mentioned. Weed, catnip, even nightshade.

 

Judy was thankful that it was open air. She thought – no, she _knew_ – that if her and the crowd were all enclosed in a building with little to no air circulation, she’d likely have a panic attack, lose her cool, and run as far away as her legs could carry her. Too many predators that weren’t police in too little a space. And from her senses, Judy couldn’t smell, hear, or see any other prey mammals around. She was one of one, the singular prey mammal present. But, considering how many of the preds were excitedly grinning, laughing, and just showing their teeth and claws in general, Judy could guess why prey wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable here.

 

Something amazingly soft and delicate wrapped around her legs, causing Judy not to jump, but to freeze in fear. She looked down and saw a fiery red tail keeping her close to its owner. Jud felt the building tension dissipate upon looking up at the fox. His eyes actually seemed to glow in a vibrant and alive shade of green, pupils wider than normal. Nick smiled at her while his tail began brushing up and down her.

 

“You doing okay?” Judy was so thankful he didn’t take a jab at her, since of all the times he could have, she knew she was wide open at this point for a joke about being a scared and dumb carrot farming bunny.

 

“Y-yeah, just um, just a whole new experience for me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many predators in one area before,” Judy began looking around. Any predator she could think of and there was at least one here. There was a growing handful of mammals that she couldn’t even identify.

 

“You’re handling it far better than any other prey mammal I know,” he admitted and starting moving them forward. “Another forewarning, you may see some . . . _different_ behavior around here that what you’d normally see.”

 

Judy looked at him, her lavender eyes widening. “What do you mean by ‘different’?”

 

On cue, the city tossed them an example. A few feet ahead, two wolves rapidly escalated from growling at each other to worse, fangs and claws coming out. An older and younger male that had decided ‘fuck it’ with regards to the diplomatic approach.

 

“The fuck did you just say!?” The older male screamed.

 

“Has-been, washed up, no good, stupid sonofabitch!” the younger male retorted in anger. Nick placed a paw over the top of Judy’s chest to let the brawl play out. The two wolves jumped at each other, teeth snapping and claws tearing through clothing and skin.

 

Judy reached for her firearm, but Nick caught her. Turning to him, he shook his head, a clear nonverbal way of stating ‘don’t get involved.’ “Told you, a little different.”

 

The sparing wolves were given space as they tore into each other, the pack they belonged to forming a circle to keep the crowd at bay. Mammals began cheering and growling in excitement. Blood was spilled in brief droplets and splatters on the macadam.

 

Judy covered her mouth in shock when the older one, the ‘has-been’, snapped his jaws around the younger one’s throat. Movement ceased. Everyone watched with keen interest. Judy expected him to either break his neck or tear his throat out. She unknowlingly reached out for Nick’s paw in assurance. Again, he didn’t take the easy jab at her, wrapping his paw around hers.

 

The younger wolf stopped all movement and began breathing through his nose.

 

Through a mouth full of neck fur, the older one asked, “Wha was zhat ahan?”

 

The younger wolf said nothing, nose twitching in either fury or fear. Or both.

 

“Az wha I shought,” the elder said in a deep growl, letting go of the younger wolf. Two female wolves immediately came up to the older wolf, and to Judy’s complete surprise, began giving small licks and kisses to the side of this teeth and lips. He didn’t seem to pay them any attention, still growling at the young male who remained on the ground.

 

“Pretttttty sure the one standing is the alpha of that particular pack,” Nick said in a quiet and coy voice.

 

And just like that, all returned to normal. The alpha walked away, females still hanging on him, and some members of his pack picked up the young one off the ground, and all followed their alpha to their next destination that night. The crowd filled in the vacant space, the music kept playing, and the night marched on.

 

Nick looked down to the shocked rabbit. “See? Different for you, normal for them.” They resumed walking. Judy paid extra attention to not step in any of the spilled blood pockets that were splattered onto the street.

 

A booming cacophony of laughter caught both of their attention. Across the street was a cackle of hyenas standing at an outdoor beer garden, all breaking out in wide, obnoxious laughter. The sound made Judy stop, her hair standing on end, ears ramrod straight up, nose twitching. In an instant, she decided that she hated that noise. It was unkempt and malicious sounding, scary bordering on psychotic in the howls of unrestrained laughter. Some members of the cackle had begun doubling over in the incessant laughter, as if the sound alone of their joy was like adding fuel to a fire.

 

She felt Nick press a paw firmly down on her shoulder. “Calm. Down. You give them something to pick at and they will. It’ll blow our cover. Act indifferent and you’ll be left alone.” She closed her eyes, exhaled the breath she hadn’t even noticed she was holding, and looked forward. The laughter continued to echo around them, mixing in with the scene. No other pred seemed to even mind the hyenas.

 

“Am I the only one who finds that laughter . . .” she paused, thinking of the right word that no one would overhear and get offended by, “just a little unsettling?”

 

To her credit, Nick laughed. “Likely. Just sounds like they heard a really good joke to me. Part of the reason why you never see hyenas in public places. Any business has the right to refuse service to anyone for damn near anything, and contrary to what mammals are always bragging about doing, lawyering up is beyond the pay grade of most pred mammals in this city. So often times, either for how we sound or how we smell or for our teeth and claws, we are usually asked to leave businesses and bars and living spaces. Prey mammals hate it, and since they are the majority in this city, they have a pretty big say in what the minority can and can’t do. So long as you don’t steal, fight, or do anything outwardly malicious, all are welcomed. Here, we can be what we are, and it is a godsend for preds.”

 

“That, with the wolves, wasn’t fighting?” Judy exclaimed.

 

Her fox was smiling in sympathy. “Nope. Just a . . . what do those wolves call it? Ah, toting the line. Keeping the hierarchy transparent. Around here, no one hates or judges us for what we just are.” The words torpedoed Judy’s ears down against her back. Again, the fact that her upbringing was in secluded Bunnyborrow surrounded by nothing but prey mammals and one fox made itself known clear as day.

 

 _Just like your fabled press conference,_ she thought. _Still a small-minded, ignorant rabbit_.

 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop thinking it,” Nick said a forceful tone on top of a smile, snapping her out of that depressing train of thought. “I know this is incredibly knew, and probably kinda scary. But that’s alright. You’re doing fine, and I’m not going to judge you for how you react to these things for the first time.” He paused, letting the words sink in, before continuing, “We’re not having a repeat of the bridge moment. We already got past that, remember? I fully forgave you. There’s nothing left to forgive, Judy.”

 

Judy wanted to hug him so badly it hurt. She smiled silently in way of agreement.

 

“I thought more mammals would’ve given me shit by now,” she muttered.

 

“Honestly, so did I,” Nick admitted. “But, it seems like the mood tonight is great, and most are only giving you confused stares. They probably think you’re a prey escort being led around by a pervy fox.” He grinned widely at her, showing his teeth for emphasis.

 

Judy let out a small chirp of a laugh, partially finding it funny, partially obnoxious, and a little bit of a turn on. But before she settled on _that_ thought, she changed gears in their conversation.

 

“So where do you think our guy is?”

 

“If he’s on Bourbon Street, then he is definitely at The Bar. One of the many establishments he owns.”

 

“Makes sense. Which bar?”

 

“No, I mean that’s the name of the place. The Bar.”

 

Judy stared at him. “That’s it? I didn’t think you could name an establishment after the of service it provides in the city.”

 

“I mean, there’s a strip bar further down called the Rutting Season, so I think as long as you don’t say any curse words in the title, I think you’re in the clear.” Judy’s face puckered in disgust at the name. “That being said, I don’t recall a sign for The Bar either. It’s literally a hole in the wall. One of those places that probably doesn’t show up on Zoogle maps.”

 

“Wow, I doubt any business owner could get away with that in Downtown,” said Judy. “How’d you find this place?”

 

The instant vanishing of his grin in conjunction with his ears flattening against his head was the answer to her question. “I uh – I may or may not have done business with mammals there, way back when.” Judy watched for the first time that night as the fox’s expression of confidence and comfort dropped at his reminder that he had once upon a time fully embodied the stereotype of a fox being equivalent to a common criminal. And his knowledge of this place only solidified the reality of what Nick Wilde once was and still was. Once a former hustler and criminal, still a fox.

 

Some memories, some actions, some labels haunt like old ghosts, familiar and unending in their torment. And Wilde had plenty that rose with the sun and set in the darkness of sleep with him.

 

“My turn,” Judy muttered, hip bumping him,” Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop thinking it.” The fox looked back at her, a little surprised at her action with a hint of regret behind his vulpine eyes. And then his smiled returned.

 

Nick thought about it, seriously considered bringing up the ugly talk the both of them hadn’t yet had but sorely needed to. About his past life, what he had done, what he had left behind. Yes, he could make her laugh with particularly funny and rather innocent cons and scams that weren’t outright illegal or otherwise. But there were other ventures, ones that were not at all funny or innocent.

 

And they would have to talk about it all. As police officers, as partners, as best friends, as the pair of individuals they were, Nick knew that one day he would absolutely have to tell her. And he was dreading the conversation, and beyond terrified of the likely outcome.

 

But not tonight, thank God. Tonight was partially business, which meant they could also indulge a little should it all go okay. And he didn’t want to entirely ruin the evening and the one healthy and happy relationship in his life in one complete go.

 

They continued their stroll through the party, mood improved, night still relatively young. There was a smell in the air, familiar and so inviting to Nick, completely foreign and slightly off-putting for Judy. They passed street vendors that were serving some sort of food with bottled Coronas and lime wedges. They could smell vegetables, and that strange something else Judy couldn’t identify. They passed tattoo and piercing parlors, dozens of different restaurants, bars of all varieties from up-scale to dive, a burlesque show going on in a large display window with a few dozen horny male and female pred patrons observing in undivided attention. What looked like two female miniature leopards were engaged in an intimate and slow dance with each other, lips barely ghosting one another’s, hands petting each other’s rears.

 

They pair looked at each other, Nick’s shit eating grin parting his lips. “Wanna stop and take a look, Carrots?”

 

Judy felt the blush start and her nose and run up her face into her ears. “No, I do not!” she punctuated each word with a foot tap. Of all the Judy mannerisms that warmed his heart and made him smile, the foot tapping was at the top of the list. Nick swore to himself that he’d never tell her how incredibly cute it was when she did it in fear that she’d make the conscious effort to stop. “Those females are more than half naked!”

 

“By the looks of things, they plan on getting more naked by the minute. And I hear they don’t discriminate from male to female, or even from pred to prey. Who knows, I’m sure those margays would love to get comfortable dancing in front of a bashful rabbit, “he teased as she stomped off ahead of him, clearly flustered.

 

And there she goes, Nick thought, watching the cotton swab of her tail wiggle back and forth, giving an occasional ruffle in her rather adorable discomfort. And then her scent drifted into his nose. Nick closed his eyes and slightly tilted his head back to better sample the air. And there it was, clear as moonlight in a field. _Liar liar, pants cant be on fire if you’re that turned on, Fluff_.

 

Ahead of him, Judy thought to herself, _keep it together, think of vegetables. Don’t think of dancing, don’t think of Nick, don’t think of nudity. Don’t think about the self-session you had before going ou- . . . Shit._

 

Judy felt a warm, familiar heat and wetness start to spread in her underwear. _Shit uh uh uhm think of movies._ Her mind briefly thought of her favorite homemade video she had bookmarked in her phone, and nearly stumbled in the ensuing flood of hypersensitivity to her clitoris. _Mainstream movies!! Movies in movie theaters. Nick’s always talking about movies, think of that._

 

Nick gracefully padded up next to her, still grinning but holding back from chiding her any further when a foreign set of eyes caught Nick’s. A male jackal was leaning his head out from the table he was seated at, sniffing in Judy’s direction. The jackal noticed Nick’s stare, and the male preds made eye contact.

 

Nick curled his lips enough to expose the top edges of his teeth, flattened his ears, pupils narrowed to slits, and emitted an audible growl. The jackal read it loud and clear, and turned away. Nick smirked, and looked forward again to find Judy staring at him, eyes wide in shock. She was standing on her toes, hands up to her chest.

 

“Nick,” she started slowly, “did – did you just growl?” An obvious question that they both knew the right answer to. So he owned up to it.

 

“Yup. I did.”

 

When he didn’t elaborate, Judy asked, “At what?!”

 

“At someone who should learn what they should and shouldn’t be staring at,” Nick said in a volume for the jackal to hear, while wrapping his tail around the rabbit’s waist. “Like I said, different behavior than what you’re used to.”

 

~

 

Judy had been thinking of how this district and its atmosphere reminded her of yet another movie Nick had recommended – Blade Roadrunner – when she felt his tail begin to pull away from her side. Looking back at him, he was stopped, staring at a medium sized wooden door in the side of a large concrete building. Again, there were no lights on, at least from what the top ventilation windows displayed. She would’ve said old warehouse, but warehouses didn’t have concrete structuring. Perhaps an abandoned office building that forwent any windows?

 

Nick grinned at her, gorgeous green eyes glowing in the dark, and he made a small show of waving his hand to the wooden door and the red neon sign next to it.

 

“And we have arrived,” he said, sounding almost pleased.

 

The crimson red sign flashed OPEN DUSK TILL DAWN. There was no titular sign anywhere indicating that this was indeed ‘The Bar.’ The wooden door itself had accumulated the faint musk of predator and smoke.

 

“Oh boy,” Judy murmured, trying to suppress her charged nerves.

 

“Shall we?” Nick asked, pushing and holding the door open for her. To Judy’s now steadily growing panic, the inside was darker than starless night. And she could lightly hear something inside. Music, but not of the rock n’ roll or EDM variety that was polluting the streets of the nocturnal district.

 

They walked into darkness. Well, for Judy, total yet momentary darkness. For Nick, just dimmed lighting. He worked an arm around Judy, keeping her from colliding with a wall she was about to walk headlong into.

 

Jazz music, brooding and smoldering like campfire embers, began to drift around them. The air was filled with cigar smoke, which thankfully helped water down the overabundant smell of predators. As they walked, taking two ninety-degree turns, left then a right, the pair entered into a large billiard hall. After a moment, her eyes began to adjust to the dim. Plenty of predators were there, but the large room wasn’t crowded. Some were smoking cigars or cigarettes, and most had glass drinks nearby or in hand. Conversation was at a dim, private and collected.

 

Judy followed Nick has he casually strolled over to the only bar in the room. Framed along the entire length of the room’s walls were black and white portraits and pictures, newspaper clippings pressed neatly into frames, and what looked to be pieces of art. A handful were . . . tasteful enough . . . nude portraits of varying female predators. At the other end of the room, on stage, was a jazz ensemble, neatly dressed and enveloped in their rhythm.

 

They pair arrived at red stools placed at the bar, each taking a seat. To Judy’s mild delight, the chairs weren’t made for animals too large a size like at the ZPD. Considering some of the biggest pred mammals in here were lions, Nick and Judy were only moderately dwarfed in the relative size ratio.

 

In front of them was an impressive and wildly varying selection of alcohol, from a wide running row of beer tap handles to multicolored liquor bottles stacked on wooden shelves. There was no bartender in sight.

 

“Alright, we’re here,” Judy led, keeping her voice to the bare minimum as to not upset the delicate and admittedly pleasant mood of the establishment. “What’s the plan?”

 

Nick bit his lip, thought a moment, then turned to her. “So, I’m not going to lie. You will most probably hate this plan. Yes, it is the only one we’ve got. And yes, it’s the legal one.”

 

He explained the plan, why it was legal, and why it would work. At the end of the description of how the events would likely transpire, both waited on the other’s reaction. Nick waited to see if Judy would pick her jaw up off the floor, and Judy waited for the punch line she knew wasn’t coming. Judy looked down at her paws on the polished wooden countertop, trying to focus her swimming vision.

 

“Oh . . . Oh, my god,” she muttered, feeling her stomach pulling deeper into her pelvis. “I’m going to need a drink. Where’s the bartender?”

 

She looked back at Nick, who was looking up towards where the bar wall met the ceiling. An enormous piece of cloth was attached at the ceiling, draped across the entire length of the top shelf products. It swung in a bizarre fashion, disjointed and odd, lacking the expected, normal flow of cloth when it meets moving air.

 

“Hey Renfield,” Nick asked, “Your boss wouldn’t happen to be in tonight, would he?”

 

The monstrous drape of fabric dropped from the ceiling in a blur and onto the bartender’s side of the counter. The only thing that stopped Judy from hitting the ceiling in a burst of pure fear and adrenaline was Nick’s paw on the back of her neck, keeping her in her seat.

 

The drape of cloth had two very large eyes, and they peered directly into Judy’s.

 

“What beautiful eyes,” it whispered in a deep and slow voice. Judy let out a tiny squeak in place of a scream. It wasn’t a piece of fabric, because fabric didn’t have eyes nor could compliment other mammals.

 

It was a bat. Not a normal bat the size of a mouse or a chipmunk. No, the body on this bat was easily the size of Nick’s, wings notwithstanding. The wings stretched and draped over most of the available counter space, that is, across several seats up and down the counter. The only reason Judy didn’t reflexively make for her firearm was the familiar feeling of a protective paw at the base of her neck on her back.

 

“I know, right?” Nick said in regards to the monstrous bat’s comment. “Judy, this is Renfield, a golden-crowned flying fox and the one and only bartender of The Bar. Don’t let that smoky voice and mahogany coat fool you, he’s not a fox, but the world’s largest species of bat. Annnnnnd despite how intimidating he looks, I promise he is” – Nick muttered ‘mostly’ in the tiniest octave he could – “not dangerous.” Nick felt like he was holding an exceptionally powerful spring coiled under his paw, as Judy stared open mouthed and shaking at the huge, now smiling bat. Nick looked back to Renfield and saw why.

 

Renfield beat Nick to the explanation. “Don’t worry sweetie,” the flying fox said to her in that slow and deep voice, lifting an entire wing to bring his singular pointer finger to his maw, tapping on his incisors, “only for pairing fruit. My kind never partook in . . . _protein_ based diets.”

 

What Judy said was above a whisper in pure astonishment. “Holy shit, you are massive.” Nick briefly considered a dick joke, but considering that Judy said it to someone other than him and he never wanted to set someone else up in that position, he rightfully decided not to.

 

The comment ushered an honest laugh from the flying fox. “Why yes, I suppose to someone your size and position, I must be quite the sight.”

 

“I think the biggest bat I’ve ever seen was the size of a field mouse,” Judy exclaimed, the shock and fear being replaced with utmost fascination, leaning forward to better examine him. Bats as a species were exceedingly rare in Zootopia. She hadn’t even the slightest clue that some bats grew so colossal. She gazed at Renfield’s large wingspan, the dark clothe of his wings that dominated the space of his bar. He was wearing a neatly pressed and fitted suit, a wooden color that matched closely to his natural coat.

 

“Inquisitive and gorgeous,” Renfield mused. “Quite the companion you’ve brought with you tonight, Mr. Wilde. And to answer your question, yes he is. And I’d suppose you’d like to arrange a meeting with him?”

 

“If you could be so kind,” Nick asked.

 

Renfield obliged him, and began cheeping in a high pitch chirping that neither Nick or Judy could understand.

 

Renfield stopped making the noise that was beginning to hurt Judy’s ears and seemed to listen. None of the other patrons in the bar seemed to pay any attention, continuing to talk, listen, smoke, drink, and play billiards. Nick didn’t hear the return in the communication, but Judy caught it. Much quieter, but her ears clearly picked it up. It was different in a degree of both octave and tone. Judy suspected that the other bat communicating with Renfield could be Nick’s contact.

 

Renfield looked to the fox and the rabbit. “And how will you pay for his time?”

 

Nick leaned into the counter, lowering his voice. “So, I know both you and he are no dummies, and you both likely know that I’ve taken to wearing the color blue these days, so some payment methods are off the table.” Nick waited for Renfield to react. The flying fox made no such move, still listening. Nick continued.

 

“So, I was thinking of the old world method,” Nick cautioned. “I’d be the payout. She has no hand in it,” Nick thumbed over to Judy, then stitched his fingers together. “That suffice?”

 

Renfield smirked with a short bark of a laugh, eyes pinched in what could either be admiration or entertainment. “One moment,” he said. He began cheeping again in that high pitch, then paused again. The return was extremely short, and Judy guessed that they were either in the clear or about to be shown the door.

 

“It’ll suffice,” Renfield said, now smiling widely. The monstrous bat began to ascend back up the liquor rows like a crawling blanket, up to the top shelf where there were several bottles that had no hint of modernity to them. Yellowed, crumbling labels, remnants of red wax once used to seal their corks and lids. A few had metal wire encasing their glass bodies. He grabbed one in his maw, and in a fluid and controlled drop, the flying fox landed back on the counter without a sound, setting the selected bottle in front of Nick.

 

“You will be having scotch, Mr. Wilde,” Renfield instructed, while taking out an ornate drinking glass, “This is The Dalmore 43, single malt, aged forty three years in a red oak cask. Three servings should do. More will likely give a mammal of your size a one-way ticket to the floor. And I do not tolerate overly intoxicated patrons at this establishment.” The bottle was impressive; the outline of a stag’s bust in rusted metal was coated over the label. The liquid inside was a dark amber color, and remained so when poured into the ornate glass in front of Wilde.

 

Renfield looked to Judy. “Unless you have five hundred dollars to spend on a glass, what can I get for you, little miss?” Judy stopped herself from gaping at the price of the scotch that had been poured for Nick, and looked to the beer tab handles. She recognized the one every adult family member of hers drank back in Bunnyborrow. “Yuengling, please.” Renfield nodded, and went to serve her in a pilsner glass.

 

Both served, the duo clinked their glasses together. Cheers.

 

The scotch, Nick immediately decided, was perhaps the best scotch, if not the best alcohol, he had ever tasted. Flavors of several different nuts layered upon the oaky base of the cask it was aged in. A distinctly syrup like quality that seemed to coat the entirety of his mouth. Amazingly, he could barely taste the sharp ethanol taste of alcohol that was no doubt very present. The con artist in his hindbrain began thinking of several ways to acquire a bottle that was easily in the thousands of dollars.

 

Judy had never been more thankful for beer. Normally, she had purposefully refrained from resorting to alcohol if her nerves were fried from a bad day on patrol, like finding a naked and bled out zebra, but considering what she was about to watch and how the thought sent her stomach and head into spirals, she was willing to break her own rule. Because it was one of the better beers that all of her male relatives drank back home, the familiarity of the barley embedded with the alcohol was all the more calming.

 

They drank in the quiet dim of the bar, Judy eavesdropping on the rest of the conversations in the room, Nick still fascinated and delighted by how damn good the scotch was. Judy heard a few comments about ‘mammals you’d thought you’d never see at ‘The Bar’, amongst other things, but most of the conversation seemed to revolve around anything else but them. Family woes, business woes, who was sleeping with who, who’s been arrested, were the guilty of something a prey mammal would’ve been guilty for, etc.

 

Before she knew it, she was looking up into an empty pilsner glass, swallowing the last drops of her beer. Nick was finishing glass number two, eyes wide and grinning. He looked at her. “Judy, holy shit. I’ve never had a drink this good. Renfield, may I have a third and can Judy have a sip? Pretty please?” The bartender looked up from the glass he was drying, leaned in, and sniffed an inch away from Nick’s muzzle. To Judy, it was a clear breach of personal privacy. To Nick, who just laughed and said, “At least buy me dinner, NO NO, I take it back, buy me another round of that scotch first,” it was just unspoken communication.

 

“Yes, one more round of The Dalmore,” Renfield instructed, pouring as such. Nick immediately threw back half of the small glass’ contents, grinning wickedly. “That’s dangerous,” he smiled through his teeth, still looking impossibly handsome to his companion. The way he even drank somehow came off as attractive, for Christ’s sake. The fox passed the glass over to Judy. “If nothing else Carrots, you’ll get to try scotch that we’ll likely never be able to afford.”

 

She looked at the dark amber liquid. Eh, when in Rome, she thought, and sipped.

 

The taste of the liquid and the following evaporation of moisture from her mouth stole her breath right from her lungs. She made to cough, and then the taste began to saturate onto her tongue.

 

 _Oh. Ohhhh. This_ IS _good. Better than good. Great, even. Wow, I think I’m tipsy_.

 

“That’s a shame we can’t get more of that,” she muttered. Nick laughed and took the glass back, drinking the rest. “Yes, yes it is a shame that the fun must come to an end,” he agreed.

 

Judy heard the two mammals come up behind them. A pair of warthogs, also dressed in fine evening ware that contrasted with their callous and unkind faces.

 

“Boss’ll see you two now,” the one said.

 

“And off we go,” Nick said in a cheery voice, hopping off the stool and nearly collapsing onto the ground. His eyes widened as he realized that the world was feeling quite tilted and his sense of balance was nearly gone. “Hooooooly God, I think I’m a little drunk.” At his own admittance, Nick smothered a laugh as it tried to escape him. Judy was immediately beside the almost sloshed fox, also besieged by the feeling of gravity’s pull shifting from downwards to left and right, as she propped him up by taking his arm over her shoulder.

 

Her nose was filled with the scent of fabric and violets, and Judy felt her knees go a little weak from his scent alone. While buzzed, she was in far more control than Nick was at this point, and she didn’t mind the feeling of his weight as he leaned on her for support. The weight, body heat, and scent of the fox put her in a mild state of bliss. Which was also helped along by the beer and scotch.

 

“You seriously okay?” she asked.

 

“Yeahhh still in decent enough capacities Carrots,” he answered semi-evenly, “just surprised at the speed that scotch took to my head and legs.”

 

They were led out of the billiards hall and into a hallway that was as decorated and atmospheric. The jazz continued to float down into the hall. Both were frisked, and Nick had his revolver confiscated. As one guard patted Judy down and approached her small thighs, she smacked his hoof away with surprising force.

 

“Excuse you,” she accused the guard, shooting daggers at him. The guard put his hooves up, chuckling at the unexpected display of bravado from the rabbit.

 

Nick watched as the other guard placed his revolver into his suit pocket, feeling slightly more vulnerable without it. As another guard reached for the evidence bag Nick had tucked in the side of his waistband, Judy stopped the guard. “Part of what we want to talk about with your boss,” she explained. The guards looked at the knife wrapped in thick plastic bagging, and took it anyway. “We’ll give it to him,” one said. Close enough.

 

Judy watched Nick’s sullen expression at his weapon being confiscated, even under his previous insistence that this meeting shouldn’t go South. As both guards turned to open the door that likely contained their mammal, Judy took Nick’s paw, and brushed it alongside her hip and down her thigh.

 

At first, his jaw dropped at the brazen move, and made to say something, and then felt the kydex holster and familiar outline of a small handgun. His sense of security returned, and the fox grinned and looked forward. _Clever box, dumb funny, oh wow I need a breath of fresh air. Alright, alright . . . focus, Wilde._

 

They entered a small study, part computer station, part private library. The room reeked of old book pages and aged wooden shelves. In the center was a large mahogany lawyer’s desk. A female pig in a nurse’s uniform stood at attention next to the guards on one side.

 

Judy heard something – no – a lot of somethings, like hundreds of small nails scraping against a wall. She looked up to the ceiling. Far too many eyes looked back down at her in observatory silence.

 

She knew there were maybe a hundred plus bats above her, but Judy’s disbelief at this place and its owners forced the question regardless. “Are those…?”

 

“Yes, those would be my acquaintances,” came a very smooth and even voice, an octave or three deeper than Nick’s but nowhere near the baritone of Renfield. Judy and Nick looked to the lawyer’s desk in the center of the study. A small, typical looking bat in a miniature white button down and crimson vest stared back at them. Their information broker was a bat, and according to Nick, the best in the entire city.

 

Nick clasped his paws together, as though he had found what he was looking for. “Vladimir! You’re looking dapper as always.”

 

The bat returned a wry smile. “Nicholas. Good to see you up and reformed. How’s the life dressed in Blue treating you?”

 

“Paying taxes is awful. Highway robbery. And I have – _used_ to know plenty of actual robbers.” The bat pursed his lips and nodded in agreement, before saying, “Such is the way of the world. We give to another, sometimes by choice, other times by necessity.” The bat looked to Judy, giving her an odd smile.

 

“And I finally get to meet the titular rabbit police officer who placed old Dawn Bellwether behind bars. Vladimir Dracul.” He pronounced his name in some sort of Slavic tongue; harsh, off cadence from his clean English, and unpleasant to the ears.

 

What came out as Judy’s response could have been partially attributed to the alcohol working its way through the blood brain barrier, but Nick knew it to be the inherent police officer in the rabbit talking loud and clear. Sometimes, it’s tough to switch the police brain off.

 

“Did you know about Bellwether’s plot?” Nick felt his stomach drop into his ass, and looked to the bat. Vladimir’s smile was replaced by his brow furrowing followed by a dark stare at the rabbit, who held it without fear of reprisal. He thought it couldn’t get any worse. Then it did.

 

Judy accused, “But why am I framing it in a question when it is in fact a statement of the obvious? As an information broker, of course you did. I bet you know everything that’s happening in this city. And if you’re really all your hyped up to be, I’d be damned if you didn’t even have an inkling of what that meek little sheep was up to.”

 

“And if I did?” the bat returned in an even tone.

 

“Then you probably know why we’re here tonight, and likely have the answers to our questions,” replied Judy. She also wanted to tell him she would start work on a warrant first thing tomorrow morning.

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

“Then he and I will walk right out and let you get back to your business.”

 

“Is that right,” the bat drawled out.

 

In his intoxicated state, Nick considered their odds of escaping, which wasn’t admittedly great, compared to their odds of disappearing, which looked to be increasing by the second. He looked to their host, who’s face broke into a wide shark’s grin of amusement.

 

“I heard you gave Big a similar spiel when you interrogated him. Pretty ballsy. Brave yet dumb.” The bat looked to Nick. “Compared to you, who’s smart yet shifty, you two are a perfect match.” Like with Big, Nick saw that the bat was merely amused by Judy, not offended. Judy herself was offended twofold at being called dumb and at the insult aimed at Nick.

 

Judy made to argue, raising her finger to point, but the bat held up a wing. “As much as I’d love to trade barbs with you about legalities and what is known and all that happy nonsense, you’re right. I’m sure I can help you with whatever it is the ZPD is unable to figure out.”

 

On cue, a guard placed the bagged knife in front of Vladimir. The tiny bat crawled on top of the weapon, face pinched in examination. Slowly, he went over every inch, including slowly and arduously flipping it over to inspect the other side.

 

The bat, seemingly finished with his inspection, turned to look back up at the duo, grinning in way that conveyed absolutely no good intentions.

 

“I can help you. And it’ll be a worthwhile trade,” Vladimir insisted. “I am a mammal of my word.”

 

Nick looked over at Judy, gave a weak smile, and said, “Alright. Let’s trade.”

 

The female pig came over, and hooked Nick up to a small IV bag. On the label, there were no lines of hospital speak, no indication of medicine or what company made the bag. Only a blank line. On it, she wrote:

 

**RED FOX, MALE 32 X THE DALMORE 43, 3 SERVINGS**

 

She hooked up the IV bag to a catheter, and inserted it into the crook of Nick’s elbow. Judy’s sense of hearing picked up the acute puncturing of skin and the subsequent flow of blood in the dead quiet room. To his credit, Nick barely felt the sting of the needle entering his body. Amazing scotch, indeed. Tastes outstanding and serves as a wonderful nonprescription pain killer.

 

After what felt like a small eternity of silently watching and listening to a torture exhibit, Judy felt a sigh of relief leave her when the thankfully small bag was filled, the catheter removed, and gauze applied. The female pig poured a very small amount of Nick’s blood into a glass, placing it in front of her boss.

 

The vampire bat sampled it, white tongue darting in and out of the blood.

 

He then turned to Nick, who had been watching the bat with a kind of morbid fascination. “That’s excellent. You pair surprisingly well with scotch, Mr. Wilde. Great to finally taste a red fox that isn’t liquored up on cheap swill or drugs. And disease free, to boot. What a great addition to the flight I’m compiling. Lucy, could you store this in the vault?” The pig took the bag and opened a small, hidden compartment in the wall. A refrigerator draped in neon blue lighting, where a few dozen dark bags hung from hooks. The bat turned to Judy and grinned, white incisors stained crimson. “You look a little green around the gills, Judith. Not a fan of seeing sanguivorous habits? Don’t worry, so long as there’s consent, it’s legal in the city of Zootopia.”

 

She couldn’t humor him, wouldn’t do so. Just when she was getting used to blood. Seeing and smelling not only her partners blood, something out of the worst case scenario, but to see another mammal feeding off it. Judy fought to keep herself under control, to not betray an ounce of the building horror, nausea, and disgust.

 

The bat snorted in his grin. “Very well. To not waste any more of the ZPD’s precious time, I can tell you right now that it is a moot point to pursue whoever made this knife. The style and metal type are clearly from across the pond. Likely Africa. I’ve seen a handful of these imported. Used exclusively for killing or mutilating, a ghost knife, if you will, made to be untraceable. And it is essentially so.

 

“However, I do have a parcel of information that may be useful. This knife . . . it was found in the back of a zebra’s skull, correct? A Matthew Feldman? Purveyor of young male escorts?”

 

“How’d you know where the knife was located,” Judy interrupted.

 

“The news is a great source of information, however biased it may be,” the vampire bat responded.

 

“The detail about the knife wasn’t mentioned to the press,” Judy said. Add ‘panic’ to the list of unpleasant emotions this bat managed to stir in her.

 

“There’s more than one news source outside of ZNN and the Times,” Vlad replied with an awful smile. “I have my sources, and rarely are they ever wrong. Regardless, I know the Madame who the zebra was in touch with for his ‘evening boys.’ I’ll tell you where you can find her. Under some police pressure, I’m sure she’ll tell you of Matt’s preferred company. She and her working mammals are regulars at this spot so I’m sure you can find her and her crew another night.” He instructed for pen and paper, and wrote down her information, sliding it over to Judy. In the largest print was THE HOTEL STOCKHOLM. The rabbit waited a moment so that the bat’s wing would retract before taking it. She absolutely did not want to run the risk of coming into physical contact with Vladimir.

 

The bat motioned towards Nick, who was starting to look dizzy, blinking out of sync, face beginning to twitch. “I’d recommend Gatorade and plenty of food and water,” Vlad instructed, still smiling. “Judith, Nicholas, pleasure doing business with the both of you. I’m sure we’ll be meeting again some day soon. My associates will see you out.”

 

Judy stood, pocketing the parchment. The female pig went over the Nick, slightly bending over to help him up. The collar of her neatly pressed uniform pulled down around her neck. Judy saw dozens of tiny cuts marring across her pink skin.

 

Neat, even, and small teeth marks, some scabbed over, some still crimson in recent coagulation. Judy forced the bile back down her throat.

 

She quickly grabbed their knife and Nick’s confiscated revolver. Getting under Nick’s other arm for support, she tried to hide under his weight and scent from a hundred sullen and hungry eyes as they were escorted back out.

 

~

 

Considering the hour, Judy called a Zuber back to her apartment. She had no idea where Nick lived, and frankly, was too frayed and exhausted to consider seeing him to where ever he resided. Best to just crash and subsequently burn at her tiny apartment for the night. The driver, picking up late night partiers and prepared for that kind of crowd, mercifully gave them free waters the whole way back so as to stave off most adverse hangover effects. Thankfully Nick wasn’t an incoherent or insubordinate drunk. He just seemed a moment away from falling into a deep sleep, barely keeping his eyes open, neck muscles seemingly having called it quits, and drank when instructed. Towards the end of the journey, Judy held the side of his head up while letting him guzzle down water. Hopefully his hangover would be manageable tomorrow.

 

They arrived at her building, with Judy doing the walking for the both of them as Nick’s arm was slung around her neck. It took a while to balance Nick and unlock her door, but with a kick, they made it into homestretch. Nick face planted into her mattress, with Judy pulling his shirt off as he went down.

 

Judy stared down at her fox as he unconsciously wiggled to find a better position to sleep in. She felt the wave of sleep deprivation hit her. It was late into the night, they had their next lead, and they had done it without breaking any serious laws or without death threats.

 

The thought of Vladimir drinking blood, fresh and otherwise, still made her skin crawl and her stomach churn.

 

In a semi conscious haze, Nick began deeply inhaling, his nose in her pillow. And to Judy’s surprise, he emitted a light growl, bordering on a purring noise.

 

“Uhhhh, Nick? Are – are you okay?”

 

“Mmmhmmm,” he muttered. “Smellsss greatttt . . . llllikke Judyy,” he slurred through the invading state of sleep. Judy’s mouth hung open in mild surprise. He then proceeded to try and take off his pants.

 

“WOAH, woah okay,” Judy quickly got next to him to make sure his underwear didn’t come off in the undressing effort. Considering his very inebriated state, the devious thought of letting him get naked on his own in her apartment was off the table. Otherwise, she probably absolutely positively wouldn’t have stopped him. He lay there in the tank top and his boxers, inhaling her pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

 

Judy looked at the gauze over his elbow. Whereas she was very disturbed by the affair, Nick had seemed rather unconcerned about the transaction. She felt a strange sense of pride looking at him. Took one for the team, for her and their investigation. She never had any doubt in his conviction as a reformed officer of the law, but it was something else to see him go to ends with her on a case. It filled her with pride and joy, amongst other pleasant emotions about the fox.

 

She rubbed the rust colored fur on his back. He was too tired to even purr, having drifted off into a deep sleep. After a few minutes, her apartment smelled like fox, specifically violets and delicious male musk. Just looking at her sleeping fox, the rabbit felt something wonderful and comforting cascade around in her chest and head.

 

She wanted desperately to admit to him, to hold him, to kiss him, but wouldn’t. Not tonight, anyway.

 

Getting up, she made to look for blankets to sleep on the floor before remembering that she had nothing to cushion herself between the hardwood floor and the spare blankets. To see just how hard the floor felt on her back, she felt her body twist in discomfort upon lying down. She looked to the right, under her mattress. A few dust bunnies had collected in the dark.

 

Judy instantly thought of one with wings and tiny claws that scratched along walls like insects, one that was very hungry and would seek out a neck to part and drink from.

 

Within a moment, she was standing and looking back at her bed and the sleeping fox on it. _Yeah, fuck that,_ she thought, getting changed into just her panties and a large nightshirt.

 

Judy crawled up next to Nick, who was lying on his stomach, breathing evenly, nose still buried under her pillow. She lied down on her back, scooting herself right next to him. The pleasant warmth of his body was so welcomed against the cool air of her apartment. His scent filled her head and chest, his sounds familiar and soothing, and Judy quickly fell into the comfortable abyss of sleep.

 

~

 

Emilia Clarke couldn’t sleep, her excitement and bursting pride keeping her mind active and alert, staring at her shoddy apartment ceiling. Tomorrow morning, she thought. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning. Was it her best? Not entirely, but it didn’t have to be. Her name on the front page of the Times. Her story would be the first item everyone in the city would read tomorrow morning. Emilia was feeling entirely excited. 

 

Scratch off excited. Emilia was feeling beyond ecstatic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW nearly ten thousand words with this update. With each chapter, i just keep writing more and more. Hope that's not a bad thing . . . Any-who, how about the copious vampire references i threw in there? Well, maybe not copious, but a healthy handful at that. I love it when you lot leave your comments, so don't feel shy!  
> Also, i just want to mention that i heard Vladimir being voiced by James Spader as i wrote him.


	8. Morning Star

Light from the sun spills over the mountains, beginning to fill out the dark of the city, and the newsstands, diners, and coffee shops were stocked with today’s papers. The Times was delivered in bulk to many business and institutions, the ZPD Precincts and City Hall included. At 3:46 AM, the copies started stacking in the order of thousands. By 4:30 AM, they were all on their way across the city and beyond.

 

At a coffee stand deep on a subway station platform, much like the one where he tore open the throat of a pretty female gazelle, a killer picked up his coffee and the morning paper, immediately storing the Times under his arm. He walked over to a bench and sat down. Mammals passed him by without a second thought. First (and only) thoughts included, but were not limited to:

 

_Boy is he handsome._

_Fuckin pred._

_Must be a lawyer or some such by how he’s dressed._

_He . . . doesn’t look friendly._

_In that suit, that cat’s a sight for sore eyes._

_And I thought_ I _wasn’t happy to get up this morning._

He was aware of the occasional prolonged stare, but knew there was nothing to be concerned about. The police were playing catch up to him, if they were even there yet. For a killer who drowned a squirrel in boiling coffee, stabbed a zebra, and slashed a gazelle, he was calm, collected, assured. No sleep lost, no invasive or conflicting thoughts, no problems. Hadn’t been that way in years.

 

Amidst the dim of admittedly normal and terribly boring conversation, he started to pick up on a familiar pattern in the crowd’s topics.

 

“Holy shit, did you read the paper this morning?”

 

“Did you read the Times today?”

 

“Only in Zootopia.”

 

“Oh my god, no way . . . “

 

“They were good mammals, ordinary mammals, not those goddamn chompers living in the ghetto.”

 

“Didja see what the ZPD said about the whole damn thing?”

 

The killer looked at the front page of the morning paper.

 

**Murdered mammals suspected to be targeted by Speciest Killer. ZPD investigating connection between individuals found dead in public.**

 

Coupled with three not dead, quite alive photos of Marcy Kelt, Matthew Feldman, and Simon DuLarge. Likely taken from social media, how in each picture, each mammal was plastered with a happy smile. Even before sticking Matthew Feldman with that knife, their killer hadn’t seen any of them smile. The print reiterated that the ZPD had found a connection between the three murders

 

_Oh shit_

but had not come forward with what exactly the link was. Mild speculation, hearsay, followed. ‘Serial killer’ was mentioned.

 

He looked at the author. Emilia Clarke.

 

The killer exhaled heavily, making the conscious effort to not puncture the paper with his claws, nor shred the paper to ribbons on the spot, only to try and draw the rage that was shaking his arms down and back into his torso, where it could be better hidden. Only a singular cub, a tiny otter being led dutifully around by his mother, noticed the mammal on the bench, how his arms were quaking like dead leaves on a tree. The tiny otter tried to say something about it, how that mammal looked like Daddy when he was really angry, but his mother ignored her child, dragging him along.

 

‘A link has been established between the murders . . . ‘

 

_Is that so, Ms. Clarke?_ He could hear the growing dim around the newspaper stands, the sounds of papers being delivered into waiting paws and hooves. More and more mentions about the story on the front page of the Times.

 

Something very awful and virulently angry began coiling around in his head. Something between a memory

 

_Look what you’ve made me do._

And an impulse.

 

_What have you done?_

 

Something that was trying to break free of the mental restraints he placed on it every waking moment.

 

_What a mess._

 

He read on. “Officers Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde are suspected to be the leading investigators . . . ‘

 

_What a goddamn mess._

 

~

 

Nick dreamt. He ran on all fours through a moonlit field, through waves of flowing grain. There were no clouds, and the moon had a singular, hideous eye, housing two pupils pulsing and beating like a heart in the iris. The celestial body stared down at him; it’s one eye moving from him to somewhere ahead of him.

 

Nick found the gaze amusing. An audience that egged him on, urged him to track, to locate, to hunt.

 

And he could smell her. A wonderfully intoxicating scent of something delicious in so many ways. So he tilted his head up, catching the scent on the cooled summer air, followed it to the earth, and started trotting, letting scent alone guide him, eyes forward and sensing, not really seeing.

 

Find her, find her. A dichotomous message, playing over and over again in his head. The scent of prey. It made his stomach growl, mouth water, and even aroused him. Such a basic and essential scent that he had to find, had to locate with haste.

 

A calm wind massaged the waves of grass, ran through his fur like a fine-toothed comb. He looked above him. Black flecks scoured the sky, illuminated by the moon. Bats swarmed in the thousands, the flock moving in unison like a group of nightingales. The low yet powerful sound of thousands of beating wings kick started his heart rate, making it start pounding in increasing tempo in his chest and head.

 

Find her, find her, the message starting playing with a dangerous and incessant fervor in his mind. Find her find her, Find find find, her her her. Find. Her.

 

The words rotating from to back, back to front, side to side, over and over in his mind, becoming the sole thought to drive him forward, to make him trot quicker into a jog, nostrils flaring, scent getting fresher, getting warmer. The bats were starting to scream in excitement. The world was becoming louder. He was getting closer. Nick could practically taste the rabbit on his tongue.

 

The fox found the rabbit, not in a clearing, not out in the open, but wrapped around herself in a sleeping ball in just another area of overgrown grass. Had his sense of smell taken him a foot to the left or right, he likely would’ve moved directly by her and been none the wiser.

 

The world went quiet. The bats, and their monstrous overseer, watched in silence. The fox nudged the sleeping rabbit with his nose, and the rabbit woke, staring at him with wide purple eyes.

 

Nick’s stomach twisted. There was something heartbreakingly awful in those eyes, something he had seen once before. Once being more than enough to fully devastate him.

 

Fear. The rabbit jumped away, emitting tiny and pathetic squeaks as it tried to run away. But it couldn’t really run, favoring one leg as it hobbled away from him. A deep red gash in her leg prevented a quick and efficient retreat. Little droplets of blood dotted the ground, seeming to glow in the moonlight, a directional guide from prey to predator.

 

The sight made his heart snap, and he felt tears in his eyes. Nick rushed to her, trying to suppress the awful ache of hunger that welled up his stomach, trying to tell her ‘it’s okay it’s okay I would never hurt you I could never hurt you,’ but it came out as a snarl; ugly, vicious, and damning. The rabbit gave a pitiful and scared chirp as it tried to hobble away, limbs shaking, chest heaving. She collapsed, and so gripped in fear, started crawling away, as quickly as her weak little limbs could take her. He kept easy pace, staying a foot or so behind her.

 

Please, he thought, please stop I would never hurt you. Please it’s okay I promise I just want to hold you and keep you safe. Please.

 

But the sound she was making was too horrible to bear, too awful to fully understand that he was the cause of her near paralyzing fear, too pathetic to justify the horror we was causing her. Her keening and squeaks were bordering on tiny sobs, infant and pleading. He stopped trotting after her, and Nick let the rabbit hobble away from him, into safety, into the high grass.

 

Eventually she went quiet. He could still smell her sweat, her blood.

 

Nick was left alone, feeling the guilt and agony begin sawing away into his breastbone and through his heart. She had been so scared of him. So terribly scared of the big bad fox that was coming to kill her, devour her.

 

Her heard something new. A tittering, a multitudinous, growing chattering from above. Laughter, a thousand jet black bats laughing at him. The sound grew past the sense of hearing, warping in form to encompass his whole being. His dreamscape shook under the weight of the awful stimulus.

 

Above, on that awful moon, Nick saw a fissure that began splitting across the bright surface, right under the eye, from edge to edge. A smile, a grin, trying to part its lips in soundless laughter at a joke with the world’s cruelest punch line.

 

~

 

The sudden and clearing feeling of waking on his side dawned over Nick Wilde. He was facing a wall. Despite being naturally nocturnal, and how waking up in the morning would likely always be a rough and groggy endeavor, the fox did come to note that this was not where he normally slept.

 

One, this place was tiny, even by his standards. Like, shoebox tiny.

 

Two, Judy’s scent was everywhere. Really, everywhere. On the pillow his head was resting on. In the blankets he was under. It wasn’t even in the air. Her scent _was_ the air. Every inhalation was a soft and velveteen and smelled like fields in the morning.

 

Three, his stomach felt hotter than the rest of him.

 

Only moving his free paw to lift the blanket up over his body, Nick investigated, and discovered a rabbit spooning against him, still fast asleep, ears tucked behind her back and in front of his stomach. She was dressed in only a large t shirt and a cute, small pair of blue panties.

 

His mind was thrown into a whirlwind of thoughts, each competing for immediate attention and prompt explanation. He felt his heart jump to his throat.

 

_OHHHH GOD oh god oh god Judy’s sleeping right next to me._

_Is this where she lives? Hotel room?_

_What the hell happened last night?_

_. . . Why can’t I remember what happened last night?_

_Did we sleep together? Oh . . . Oh Jesus . . . Oh Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Todd did we have sex?!_

_Is she on the pill!? Wait, can I even get her pregnant??!!_

As delicately as he could manage, Nick lifted his head and chest up, trying not to disturb Judy, and tentatively began sniffing a half an inch away from her, looking for any obvious sign of scent intermingling. Which there absolutely was. Every quick inhalation registered female bunny with male fox. She smelled wonderful, her morning scent was pleasantly soothing, an easy scent that was gentle on his olfactory senses. Nick started at her neck, working his way down her body and stopping an inch away from the front of her underwear.

 

_God above help me. Her underwear even has a little bow on the front._

 

He inhaled, and instantly wished he had waited for a more opportune time. Because the scent of her sex was anything but calming or soothing. More akin to exciting, adrenaline pumping, fully waking and arousing his cognition and sending a pleasureful spark down through his balls and into his shaft.

 

His inquiry of her underwear yielded two facts.

 

  1. There was no trace of him down there, and he was immeasurably thankful that he wasn’t waking up to evidence of _that_ with no memory. And



 

  1. Judy was going to enter her heat soon.



 

Sooner, rather than later, he deduced. It was building, a wave gaining momentum and strength and volume. The scent of her sex, this particular morning with her sleeping on her side pressed flat against him, was like a dull ache, a pulse, a flash in the pan of what was soon to come. The chemical markers flared in his subconscious, saying

 

_keep checking keep checking will be in heat soon will want to mate badly keep her close mate her as much as you can._

 

His conscious was a little more conflicted. _Good god I cannot believe I just did that what would she think of me do rabbits scent check do they not holy god how can a rabbit smell that damn good holy shit imagine when she finally peaks . . . you seriously need a grip Wilde._

 

A pleasurable contraction of muscles in his groin occurred, begging for release and attention, for him to at least remove the tight confines of his boxers. A very low growl just escaped his lips, his growing sexual frustration coming to verbal fruition.

 

Upside: he knew that hadn’t slept together. Downside: that was now all he was thinking of.

 

Judy moved, and Nick froze, not yet wanting to wake her for a multitude of reasons. Like not wanting his best friend, that he was undoubtedly developing something emotionally and physically fierce for, to come flying out of a deep sleep in the arms of a natural predator. A natural predator that was desperately trying to focus on not getting an erection. And slowly, ever so excruciatingly slowly, failing at. What would be more emotionally scarring for Judy? Waking up in the arms of a fox? Or waking up because a fox’s erection was poking at her butt?

 

Her entire body twitched once, followed by a singular, tiny leg kick forward, nose twitching, still asleep.

 

_Oh. My. God. That is more adorable than it has any legal right being._ Judy ceased her movements, falling back into lifeless sleep. The sudden attention to not waking her up took his mind (and body) off of the embarrassing physical reaction he had been struggling to suppress. Nick lay back down with her, resting his nose against the back of her head, right at the base of her ears.

 

So close and so comfortable. Feeling amazingly soft, despite how short her fur was. Smelling like warm summer fields and fresh pine and rabbit and female and Judy. She even sounded small, tiny breaths in and out. A rabbit that saw the good in him, the good he thought – no, he _knew_ – had died years ago when the world condemned him to be hated and vilified, all a fox was good for. A rabbit, a mammal whose species could hate foxes as easily as they could multiply, that embraced him, cared for him, trusted him, and dare he really and truly hoped, even loved him.

 

Nick had replayed that memory, over and over, in his mind since he went on his first patrol with her.

 

_You know you love me._

_Do I know that?_

_Yes, yes I do._ Her smile when she delivered the words to him, the confidence behind those words. They filled his body, mind, and heart with a brilliant light. Every time he thought about that moment, a spectacular joy cascaded through his chest and into his limbs.

 

Yet still . . . A moon, a laughing sky, came to mind. A scared rabbit. Always a fox. Always a predator. . . he shuffled the thought away, despising how quickly and efficiently it twisted his stomach into a knot. The constant fear that she never meant it that way, that he was blowing it out of proportion.

 

Nick placed a paw over Judy’s stomach, over the fabric of what was clearly her evening tee, and gently pulled her close to him. Reason standing, this had to be Judy’s apartment. She – well, they – likely wouldn’t be this way otherwise. He chanced a quick peek around her apartment.

 

_Christ, this is . . . uh, very tiny. Barebones. I don’t even think there’s bones, maybe just the spine, a rib or two._ Nick decided that he should start partitioning her to begin the process of finding new digs.

 

They lay in the breaching morning glow, beams of light slowly filling out the shadows of her apartment, specs of dust shimmering in the light like flakes of gold. Nick gently nuzzled against the back of her head, delighting in breathing her in, feeling the warmth of her body on his wet nose.

 

He pushed the fear away, back into the recess of his mind, right where the devil-may-care hustler was, right along with all of the wrongs he had committed, the sins he had yet to answer for. For now, Nick Wilde just wanted to bask in the simple yet wondrous happiness of the current situation.

 

Judith Laverne Hopps. Someone who saw something good in him, saw plenty of good things in him, who by all rights should’ve hated him and let him con and wither away into the city that first day. _God above help me, I am falling for you. No, that’s not right at all. I_ have _fallen for you, Judy. There’s no going back on that. No dice there, Slick._

 

An almost overwhelmingly primal sensation of contentment, comfort, and safety washed over Nick, and without any conscious thought or direction, began delicately licking the back of Judy’s head, affectionately grooming the rabbit.

 

Judy’s eyes snapped open in response to feeling something so foreign. One moment she was still at Nick’s side, the next she had flung her entire body to the wall across her mattress, across from Nick, eyes wide and facing the fox, a look of shock plastered over her face and one hand feeling the back of her head. Nick stared back, the tip of his tongue still past his lips. Like sucking down spaghetti, it vanished back into his head.

 

Judy: _what . . . what is going on? why is the back of my head wet? . . . Is that a FOX?_

 

Nick: . . . _Oh God . . . oh no no no. Ruined. That’s it. You ruined it Wilde, in one dumb fucking move you ruined the best thing to ever happen to you. You ruined it, not sooner, not later, right now, you ruined it first thing in the morning._ He immediately thought of a moon with a singular double-lobed eye and a grin, one that was finally getting to laugh at the joke long coming . . .

 

His thought pattern was derailed by the look he wasn’t expecting. Judy stared at him, clearly surprised, but not looking disgusted or horrified. Just . . . surprised. Not even a little bit afraid. Just very surprised, almost quizzically so. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to start.

 

She felt the warm dampness on the back of her head, right back and behind her ears. The smell then assaulted her olfactory senses, her mind swimming to suddenly try and process the near overwhelming scent of male fox musk. She felt her heart rate start increasing, tried controlling the urge to start breathing shallow and fast. She closed her eyes, letting her senses sort themselves out. Smell? Fox, fox everywhere. Fox in your bed, fox in your sheets, fox in your nose. FOX ON THE BED. But, familiar. Okay, she knew that familiar FOX was this morning’s scent theme. She felt herself climb back down the panic ladder. Hearing? Heartbeat, a little fast. Nothing else. Another rung down the ladder. Getting better, breathing slowing down, same for heartbeat.

 

She opened her eyes, and consciously recognized Nick, still on his side, watching her every move, not saying a word.

 

_And the fox you’re smelling would be the one and only Nick Wilde. Who is sharing your bed. Because that’s where we crashed after last night._

 

Judy blinked and relaxed from her flung position to the wall, moving closer to Nick, who in response to her small advance, retreated away in equal amount across her mattress. He said nothing, did nothing but intently stare at her. Even under the red fur, Judy could practically see his skin paling, eyes wide in panic, mouth pressed into a thin line.

 

“Nick,” she asked in a quiet voice, “did – did you just lick the back of my head?”

 

In the morning silence of her bedroom, Judy heard his audible swallow, heart rate skyrocket, eyes managing to flatten out a little further. He couldn’t find the words to respond. _All those years on the streets, nearly dying how many times, and this is the moment where you have nothing to say, nothing to come back with??_

 

Judy put it together. _Oh. Oh . . . wow . . . He_ did _lick me. . ._

 

In truth, Judy’s reaction to Nick’s impromptu and very personal communication would have been received far differently if she had been conscious. Truthfully, Judy would have been very thrilled to have received such a gesture, and would have encouraged further ‘personal communication’. But being woken out of a sound sleep and not immediately recalling that she was sharing her bed with Nick? Yeah, it warranted at least a little bit of shock.

 

Her reaction was near instantaneous, to try and soothe him, put him at ease, tell him that he hadn’t offended her, disgusted her, disturbed her; only intrigued and surprised her. And, dare she admit it, excited her. She reached for him before starting to talk, when their moment was interrupted.

 

A blaring noise shot both of them airborne off the mattress in complete surprise.

 

Morning surprises: Judy = 2, Nick = 2.

 

A phone ringing. Both recognized it as Judy’s ringtone, and Nick couldn’t recall the last time he was so happy to have a way out. Actually, he could. That time he and Judy were almost iced by Mr. Big. This was almost as much a relief.

 

Nick threw himself to the phone, and quickly handed it to Judy. “It’s for you,” he muttered, as if it needed explanation. In his mind, Nick began pondering what floor Judy lived on, and if her floor was above the third floor, would the fall kill him and put a stop to the unbearable embarrassment he was suffering.

 

It was her parents. She honestly considered letting it go to voicemail, but Judy could see, now quite visibly, how uncomfortable Nick was. She decided that he needed a moment where the attention was anywhere but him, to let the dust settle. She answered.

 

“Hey mom –“ was all she could get out before the screaming started on the other end.

 

“Judy! Oh thank Heavens! . . . Stu! I’ve got her on the phone. Judy, are you alright?” Her parent’s usual panic over her career was nothing new, but in this call, Judy could clearly hear the fear and worry in their words. Bonnie and Stu Hopps usually tried to hide their ever-present concern for their daughter whenever they communicated, to some varying degree of success.

 

But not today. “Of course,” Judy answered, sounding cautious. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Because of the serial killer case you’re working!” her father nearly shouted into the phone, abandoning any pretense of hiding his panic. “Jude, comeon, we supported your choice to become a member of The Force, but hunting down a serial killer?! You have any idea how dangerous that is?! The stress it puts on your mo-“ The rest of their rant was lost on their daughter. Judy stared at her mattress, hearing but not really hearing her parents’ rant.

 

Serial killer. They had made no public mention of that speculation. Judy looked to Nick, who heard it as well, face now reshaping to match her shock.

 

Another phone started ringing. Nick’s. He picked it up, and saw his morning continue down an impossibly terrible path, looked back to Judy and mouthed ‘Bogo.’ He answered, and listened to the singular, air tight, monologue delivery made especially for police officers Hopps and Wilde. Nick didn’t get a single word in, didn’t even try. Just listened with enough concentration to diffuse a bomb. When Bogo was finished, the Cape Buffalo just hung up, leaving Nick back with Judy.

 

Judy watched as Nick slowly put his phone down. “Mom, Dad, uh, good talk, butttt I need to go. I’ll call you later. Promise I’ll be safe. Love you,” she said, hanging up.

 

Judy went with her gut feeling on what was happened. “There was a leak about the case, wasn’t there?” Nick closed his eyes, nodding once.

 

She kept going. “Made it to the news?”

 

“To the Times, and now ZNN’s running the story,” he muttered, now pinching his brow. “They included that we are working the case.”

 

“Oh . . . sweet cheese and crackers,” Judy whispered.

 

Like Nick, she knew that right now, it didn’t matter in the slightest that the both of them had nothing (that they knew of) to do with the leak. What mattered was that their case, one that by all rights should’ve only been disclosed upon successful completion, had been prematurely given to the city. “Did Bogo mention anything about . . . oh, I don’t know . . . getting resigned to parking duty for a year or more if we don’t wrap this up with haste?”

 

“Might have mentioned something about possibly kissing that detective promotion goodbye and that we sure as shit better have something to go off of today.” He paused, and looked pleadingly at his partner. “Please, please, pleeeease tell me we got something to go off of.”

 

~

 

The pair arrived at the station, judiciously avoided their Chief, whom they could hear stomping around the precinct looking for mammals to choke a confession out of, and grabbed a cruiser. They drove to the Hotel Stockholm, address in paw, objective in mind. Per Nick’s instructions, plainclothes and personal arms again. Badges tucked under shirts. Only this time, Nick required them both to bring radios. Bourbon Street and The Bar? Not necessary. The Hotel Stockholm? VERY Necessary. Nick also realized that he had to fill her in on at least some of the Hotel’s activities. It was still better than revisiting his humiliating display this morning.

 

“So, what you’re saying is,” she started off cautiously, “is that this hotel is like the Moscow Underworld for Zootopia?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Nick affirmed. “You want in on some sort of criminal activity, you’ll find a mammal to do it or a means to get it done there.”

 

“And we’re looking for a Madame who kept the rein’s on Matt’s regulars,” Judy concluded, exhaling and shaking her head. “Hey, just a question, but what do you calculate our odds of taking down the whole place after we wrap this case up?” Almost more police officer than rabbit, Nick thought.

 

“Slim to none, and slim left town,” Nick answered through a grin. “But in all honesty –“ Judy braced for it, the chance that they could do it, the optimism she was hoping was rubbing off on her partner.

 

“ – probably.” Nick concluded, then turned to Judy and mouthed ‘Never.’

 

Judy caught on, thankfully, before mouthing back, “Why not?!” Face pulled down in disappointment.

 

Nick started to answer, then turned on the radio, putting the volume up. Judy would still be able to hear him, to discern what he was saying, but the audio recorder built into the cruiser’s dashboard wouldn’t. Not under whoever was crooning on the radio. “The same reason why we never reported on Mr. Big when he one, almost iced us, and two, helped us save this two-faced city,” was his answer. “Same goes for why I think we should absolutely not say a word about The Bar. The only reason my credibility on the streets has not been totally obliterated is because we keep our mouths shut about the right mammals.”

 

Judy made to argue, blood blue as ever, when Nick interjected again, “What did Bogo say that one time to you?”

 

She knew immediately what that one time was, an important lesson from their Chief.

 

_Sometimes keeping the peace is just as important as enforcing the law. You’d do well to understand that, Hopps. Now please . . . please stop issuing jay walking citations to the good citizens of this city. I said just watch the crosswalks, not come back with over one hundred receipts._

 

She inhaled, counted to five, exhaled. The desire to enforce the law by the desire to – do what, do right? She hated how abstract the thought was. Still wrapping her head around it, since it wasn’t in the police officer’s law and ordinance manual.

 

“You think you’ll be okay?” Nick asked.

 

“Yeah, if I could handle Bourbon Street and The Bar, I can handle a hotel named after some old world city.”

 

A phone call chimed into their talk. Dr. Kaufman. Judy answered.

 

“Please, Dr. Kaufman, tell us you have something tangible to go off of.”

 

“Judging by how Chief nearly throttled a few officers today for taking more than four cups of coffee from the break room, and the sizeable press crowd in front of the lobby demanding how we’re going to catch this serial killer, it should come as a relief that I do have a small something for you. Not much, but something to hone your investigation. The throat slash on the gazelle, Marcy Kelt. I can say, within slim reasonable doubt, that it was caused by a cat claw. Can’t tell you what species per se, too many and too similar to make subjective guesses, but go for smaller cats. Lions and tigers? Too big.”

 

“Didn’t Feldman’s sister mention that Matt was a big fan of sharp edges on his evening company?” Nick inquired. Two and Two hopefully make Four.

 

“That helps,” Judy thanked Dr. Kaufman for the input before hanging up.

 

They continued their drive in some semblance of quiet.

 

“I cannot believe someone got a hold of the story,” Judy muttered more to herself than to Nick. Add that mystery to the ever growing pile of unknowns she wanted to unearth.

 

“And leaked it to the news,” Nick concluded. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad, isn’t it? Because more likely than not, our killer has watched the TV or reads the paper or hell, maybe even goes online once and awhile. And now our suspect knows we’re onto em.”

 

“And so do my parents,” Judy mourned. She loved her family, loved them till the point where it hurt, but she hated how her career choice still hung over their heads like a guillotine’s blade. She knew now, more than ever, the risks of being a police officer in a city of size, scale, and species diversity like Zootopia. But she feared that her parents would never make peace with it, that the choice would always haunt them. The protective instinct to guard offspring may have diminished over the years, but it would never be wholly erased.

 

And because it clearly still ate away at her parents, Judy always felt a tiny splinter of guilt jab around in her heart whenever her parents called. Always at least a small mention of how dangerous her job was, how dangerous the city was, how inherently dangerous predators are. It never left their minds.

 

“How about your mom,” Judy asked. “Has she ever expressed worry over your becoming an officer?”

 

Nick’s past. Roses and thorns. So, so many thorns, but many roses as well. If she was careful, Judy could grasp the stem and avoid said thorns.

 

Nick pursed his lips, actually following her train of thought, before answering. “No, not really. I guess you could say it’s a teensy bit safer than my former life. And for once, I’m not at odds with the law -

 

_Liar liar you’re on fire Wilde_

 

\- so that's a plus," he concluded

 

She shouldn’t have asked the next question, but did anyway. “What about your dad?”

 

Nick’s mouth went into a thin line. Even behind his aviators, Judy could feel his pupils narrow to slits, either at her or at the mention of a father figure he had never once brought up, or both. Likely both. He looked out the window, giving a small shrug. The comfortable air between them evaporated.

 

His response was minimal; quiet, reserved, and layered with something venomous.

 

“What father?”

 

~

 

The rest of the drive was in unnatural silence. Judy wanted desperately to ask Nick about the whole ‘licking’ thing this morning, but coupled with the clearly sore topic of a father and Nick’s apparent humiliation of said licking event, she vowed to bring up both topics later. There’s a time and a place for everything, he mother always reminded her.

 

They arrived at the Nocturnal District, albeit looking abandoned as the sun kept climbing up into the sky, parking two blocks down and over from the Hotel per Nick’s instruction. Here, he told her, the cruiser had the best chance of staying hidden from the many windows of the Hotel. They approached, Judy also sporting a set of sunglasses.

 

“When we get in, just let me do all the talking and follow my lead,” Nick instructed.

 

“You know, you seem to be doing that a lot lately, Slick,” she quipped.

 

“Because we’ve got to put up a convincing front,” he explained. “And while you’re working on those hustling skills, you’ve yet to match the level of the master.” Nick smiled, then did that seemingly unconscious body wiggle he did from his head to the end of this tail, as if boasting of his fire-orange fur coat and the Sauvé and sophisticated mammal beneath it.

 

Judy couldn’t suppress the grin forming in response to Nick’s seemingly inherent sense of bravado and easy confidence. They entered Hotel Stockholm side by side.

 

Judy was surprised by the maelstrom of scents that lingered in the hotel lobby. She was honestly expecting predators – prejudices die hard – but smelled an entire array of mammals, prey included. The lobby of the massive building was deceptively small, and strangely, only included a reception desk and an elevator. There were no hallways. There was a door on the side of the wall that had a gold brick in the center, reading MANAGEMENT. Nick nudged her, his look telling her to STOP STARING DON’T DRAW UNNECESSARY ATTENTION. At the front desk, a pangolin sat, reading the Times. He glanced up once at them, then resumed reading. Nick and Judy walked by, no one exchanging words or pleasantries.

 

Entering the elevator, Nick selected the second floor.

 

“Not taking the stairs?”

 

“There aren’t any stairs from the first floor. Only stairs connecting the second floor and up.”

 

“Why on Earth is that the design? That’s such a fire hazard!” Judy exclaimed.

 

“Precisely,” Nick answered. The elevator doors quietly closed, and for a brief moment, they ascended before arriving. Boring, inconspicuous elevator music accompanied them for their short ride.

 

“Ladies first,” Nick gestured, a mischievous grin showing the tips of his teeth. Quelling the little thrall of excitement that rose up in her hips, Judy exited the elevator and was promptly stopped, again, by the scents.

 

“And we arrive, dear Judith, at Circle two, Canto five,” he whispered in her ear. His voice, the heat on his breath, the way he pronounced ‘Canto’ in a faltered English tongue was gasoline for the flame in her belly.

 

It wasn’t helped by the overpowering stench of sex on this floor. The wild and hot smell of sex, of sweat, of musk, of genitals, male and female. Sex seeped from the air like running syrup.

 

And then she heard the moans, the yelps, the screams of unbridled joy at having the most basic and sensual itch scratched. Even in the morning, mammals had needs.

 

“Oh,” was all Judy was able to murmur out.

 

Under more controlled circumstances, Nick would have launched headlong into his teasing, since _this_ was too easy, but his sense of smell fully described the activities carried out here far better than Judy’s. Transcribed them to the degree that he could practically taste the fluid of sweat and sex on his tongue. To keep his concentration on himself and on their task (mostly) he gave Judy a gentle nudge forward, to this floor’s reception desk.

 

“It’s a – whew, a little _ripe_ in here,” he commented. “Guess they don’t clean their carpets. Or rooms, or halls. Or believe in centralized air conditioning, or musk mask.”

 

“Mhmm,” Judy commented, fists balled, eyes darting between the floor and the reception desk, her entire head burning.

 

A Honey Badger sat at this lobby’s desk, female, pierced twice across her bottom lip, mirroring where her incisors would be. She looked up from her lap.

 

“Wilde. What do you want?” Judy couldn’t stop from turning, mouth opening in shock. Had Nick actually been here, to this particular floor, and had given his real name to the Madame!?

 

A tornado of dirty thoughts flushed Judy’s mind, and she fought to not examine any of them.

 

“Mel,” Nick drawled out, pupils narrowing, hollow smile bordering on a more vicious expression, “fancy seeing you here outside of the bars down on Bourbon.” He let that point sink into the rabbit who was burning holes in his side with her gaze. “Didn’t know you were working Madame of the second floor.”

 

“And I didn’t know you were so lonely you needed to come here and pay to get your peaches off,” the honey badger, Mel, answered in an uninterested voice, something of a grin on her lips. “What kinda girl are you looking for, Wilde? One to compliment that cute, cherry red bunny besides you?”

 

Judy had been momentarily stuck in a trance. The words ‘cute bunny’ brought Judy’s focus back to the now. Part of Judy’s telescopic hearing seemed to automatically tune to the real throes of joy, what few there were here, out of the dim of faked and forced moans and cries. To her, the real shouts of encouragement and of ecstasy were easy to distinguish. Rasped, choked breath. Desperate panting. Begging.

 

She regained her composure. “Do not call me cute.”

 

Mel raised an eyebrow, something of an entertained smile now drawing across her face. “Oh, I see. Only he,” she thumbed over to Nick, “can call you cute and all the other little pet names he’s got just for you? Is that it?”

 

“Actually,” Wilde forcefully interjected, “Looking for a male. Small cat variety.”

 

Mel just raised her eyebrows, looking from Judy, to Nick, and back to Judy. “Oh God Wilde, I knew you foxes were lowlifes, but cuckolding? That’s really bottom of the barrel.”

 

Nick just smiled, a hollow, thin line that easily hid his growing annoyance. Judy was staring back and forth at them, wondering what the hell ‘cuckolding’ was.

 

“So do you have one around or not?” Nick asked, still smiling in the most unfriendly manner, a smile the confident kit gives the school yard bully that says ‘no more’, right before a fight breaks out.

 

Slowly, the honey badger’s own smile faded. “The fuck you want, Wilde? I start ribbing you and you actually ask for one of those girly boys? I know you’re not the type of John, unlike some other foxes we both know, that comes in here and pays for pussy or otherwise.”

 

“So you _do_ have something in that ballpark,” Nick leaned in.

 

The honey badger caught on, and leaned over her desk. “Get the fuck out. Right now. Before I start knocking skulls.” Her request was met with two ZPD issue badges in their paws, and their free paws moving towards the firearms.

 

“Wrong answer,” Judy breathed, officially deciding to take control of the situation. “You look like the kind of girl that keeps good records.” Judy nodded to the open records book in front of Mel, full of names, payment amounts and types, dates, and prostitutes visited. “And I’m getting tired of this back and forth that’s going nowhere fast. So, _you_ go get Matthew’s Feldman’s regular, whoever it is, right now, or we will go door to door on this whole floor to find him.”

 

Mel stood up, a low growl starting in her chest. “Big talk from a small bunny. And if you make me move out from behind my desk, bitch?”

 

Judy shrugged the insult right off, making sure the badger saw her paw slowly going for her sidearm. “Then I guess we’ll have to call it in, honey badger attacks police officers, we may or may not shoot you, other officers arrive here, start going through the building, arresting everyone they find. It’ll be something for the news to really chew on.”

 

The growl escaped the badger, the hair on her neck prickling upwards. “I’m not afraid of a fox and a rabbit.” Judy could tell that she meant it. Honey Badgers were notorious for their highly aggressive and fearless attitudes, and Mel was no exception to that rule. “You won’t get anyone important.”

 

“Oh, we know that,” Judy smiled. “Pretty obvious the top will make it out before the forces arrive. The mammals at the bottom? What difference does it make for them to get arrested?”

 

“You admitting the law’s not going to get anything worthwhile outta coming here?” Mel questioned her.

 

“We’ll get something, but perhaps not everything. You? Depends on whether or not you decide to attack or interfere with Officer Wilde and I.”

 

Mel turned to Nick. “So it is true. Chicken-shit turncoat,” she hissed at him. He grinned right back at her, his smile more honest this time around.

 

Mel turned back to Judy. “Told you once, and before I lay into you, I’ll tell you again. I’m not afraid of two beat cops, one a crook and one a rabbit too big for her britches.”

 

“Oh no, you certainly aren’t, we know that,” Judy said, not bothering to stop the spread of the triumphant smile pulling her lips. “Maybe you don’t fear the law. But what about the mammals at the top of this place? The ones we most likely won’t catch.”

 

Both officers felt a strong welling of satisfaction at seeing Mel’s face drop, her fur flattening on the back of her neck, the growling vanish.

 

“Yeahhhhh, thought so,” Judy whispered. “You may not fear the police, but I bet you’ve got a lot to fear from the mammals that run this place. And all of their employees here, they’d know who got the cops called on them, forced them into the shadows, forced a lot of good business away. Bet they wouldn’t be too happy with whomever caused that kind of transgression.”

 

Judy waited for the retort that wasn’t coming. The badger stared at her, mouth closed, eyes wide. She continued.

 

“So you have several options. Either hospitalized or worse by us, hospitalized or worse by the Force, go to jail for at least a dime, easily, none of the above and wind up face down in the marshlands, courtesy of your bosses or worse.” Judy paused. “Or, you can go get Matthew Feldman’s regular boy toy. Your call.

 

The honey badger seethed, but said nothing, fists shaking, lips quivering.

 

_It’s called a hustle, sweetheart._

 

“You stay right there,” Mel struggled to control the rage in her voice as she walked down the hall. Nick shot Judy a truly proud look, and she caught it. They smiled at each other, like happy, giddy idiots, waiting for their guy.

 

“Whatcha think, Slick? Still catching up?” Judy asked wryly.

 

He shrugged, and found he couldn’t wipe the proud and happy smile off his face. “I’ll hand it to you Carrots, pretty bold for a dumb bunny.”

 

“Says the world’s slyest fox,” she ribbed him back. Down the hall, the honey badger practically kicked a door in, and began yelling for someone.

 

~

 

Nick and Judy arrived back at the police station with their quarry, flanking a male Oncilla, one Eric Collins, and according to both he and Mel, Matthew Feldman’s regular company.

 

When brought back, forcefully by Mel, the small cat was still naked. Nick grinned as Judy turned her face to avoid staring at the cat’s erection. She still caught a glimpse, and was mortified.

 

“Jesus, can’t I at least put some underwear on?” he protested against the Madame, who shoved him at the cops.

 

“Get out,” Mel hissed. The oncilla turned towards the officers and asked, slightly out of breath, “May I at least take the beads out before we go? Please.”

 

Judy turned to Nick, her puzzled expression saying it all. _What on Earth does he mean by ‘beads’?_

 

Later, beads out, Judy actually crimson in the face and silent as the grave (mind abuzz with sooo many invasive questions), the three set back to the station. They stopped at a clothing store on the way back and picked out some slacks and a shirt for their charge.

 

“Seems to be a little much for just putting out, Officers,” he mentioned, looking around at the ZPD with an air of familiarity. “Didn’t know the new mayor was so against the world’s oldest profession.”

 

“Oh, you’re not here for that,” Judy said through a straight face, composure regained. The oncilla turned to look at her, and Nick turned to study the oncilla’s face. A look of genuine surprise, marred with confusion pulled the small cats face in all directions.

 

“What – what am I here for, then?” Eric cautioned, glancing back and forth between them. They didn’t answer him, instead, leading him to one of the smaller police interrogation rooms.

 

Sitting him down, still cuffed, Judy sat down across from him, placing a small, metallic cage on the table. Nick stood behind her, a quiet sentry in case things got out of hand.

 

“Eric Collins,” she began, keeping a perfected, neutral face, “You understand that at any time, I can and will place this muzzle on you should I feel in any way threatened or intimidated by your presence, actions, or possible cognitions. Say ‘yes I understand’ if you do so.”

 

Judy watched as the oncilla

 

(and unbeknownst, from behind her, Nick)

 

eyed the device with wary and alert eyes. Judy heard two very distinct and audible exhalations of stress from the room.

 

“Yes, I understand,” the oncilla started, slightly putting his paws up in surrender, “But aren’t you gonna tell me why I’m here? Don’t you guys have to or something?”

 

Judy took out a picture of Matthew Feldman, still living, and slid it over to Eric. “You know him?”

 

The oncilla took one glance at the picture. “Yeah, I told you, one of my regulars. Matt. Such a brute. But, he always paid. What’s he got to do with this?”

 

“First degree murder,” Judy said to him. Eric looked at her in pure confusion, face pinching in trying to figure what she just said. Judy then slid another picture of Feldman over to him. This one taken of him lying naked and bled out on a shady motel room mattress. The oncilla’s face went pale, eyes wide, ears flat back, heart rate increasing, but not skyrocketing.

 

“Oh God,” he breathed, eyes glued to the picture. “HO-LY Christ.” Eric brought his paws up to his mouth, eyes making minute movements, examining every detail of the picture. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Eric looked back up at them. And then he pieced it together, jolting backwards in his chair.

 

“Whoa! Whoa, you mean you think I _murdered_ Matt?!” the small cat stammered. “Hold on a goddamn minute, I know what I do ain’t kosher, and I have a record, but I have never in my whole life murdered anyone. Why would I kill one of my customers? Worst I ever did was scratch up a John for trying to roll me!”

 

“You’ve ever been with Matt in this hotel room?” The oncilla searched over the picture again, shaking his head. “No! I only work out of the Stockholm! I’ve never been in that room in my life!”

 

“Then you wouldn’t mind donating a fur sample, a saliva swab, paw prints, and a TCCI to clear yourself,” Nick asked. And here it was, the moment where –

 

“Of course I can!” the oncilla pleaded, looking back and forth at the pair.

 

Oh.

 

Over the next hour, hair was plucked, saliva was swabbed, paws dipped in ink and set on paper, and a TCCI (tooth and claw characteristic inventory) was conducted, in which molds were casted from Eric’s teeth and claws. The inventory also included a session where Eric’s claws were dragged through a clay bed that measured cutting depth and width of each individual claw.

 

Judy and Nick stood on the other side of the one way glass, watching the small cat sit at the table, nervously glancing around in his solitude.

 

“What do you think,” Judy asked her partner. The red fox shrugged, and looked at her. “Likely the same thing you’re thinking,” he said. Neither voiced their hunch. Mutually assured agreement.

 

Four hours later, and Dr. Kaufman and several forensic experts finished their evaluation of Eric’s TCCI, the quickest of the forensic tools employed on the subject.

 

The oncilla, Eric Collins, couldn’t have been Marcy Kelt’s killer. Eric’s claw length came up about a ¾ of an inch short of the depth cut into her neck. In Dr. Kaufman’s own words: ‘impossible, really.’

 

The chances that he had anything to do with either Matthew Feldman’s or Simon DuLarge’s murder subsequently went down the tubes.

 

~

 

“He’s got an alibi,” was all Nick kept repeating to her as they went over what they did have (a little) and what they did not have (a lot).

 

“A Madame’s bookings of who he was sleeping with?” Judy asked in annoyance.

 

“And Feldman was a loyal customer. You got a glimpse of Mel’s records, Carrots. When there’s money involved, mammals tend to keep meticulous records of every dime. And in that kind of business, they don’t appreciate their working mammals moving to other Pasteur’s. Doubt any of the fur we found in Feldman’s hotel room will belong to Mr. Collins. Also, call me wet behind the ears, but he doesn’t seem to be the kind of mammal who can push a knife through a zebra’s skull while riding him. He doesn’t have the will or any apparent incentive to do so.”

 

“So where does that leave us?” Judy asked the empty staff room. Both her and Nick’s cubicles were back to back, meaning they sat opposite of each other. Now, they faced one another, talking it through.

 

“That leaves us up a particularly tough river without any paddle,” Nick muttered, massaging between his eyes.

They knew that nothing would come back positive, no matches to the fur found in the hotel room, that the prostitute Eric Collins had not been to the nicer parts of town recently, where a squirrel was stuffed in a fresh poured coffee cup, nor would he have any reason to travel all the way into center city at Jefferson just to slash the throat of a gazelle on a subway platform, not when he lived within a block of the Hotel Stockholm. Not when there was nothing motivating him, hate or money wise, to commit murder.

 

Their lead was looking more and more like a dead end.

 

Lucky for them, their next lead would come the following day, directly as a result of the news publication by miss Emilia Clarke. But for now, dead in the water, as it were.

 

“And to top off this horrible investigation, the press is waiting to pounce on you and I once we leave the building,” Judy muttered, staring at the floor.

 

She looked back up to Nick, surprised to see him smiling at her. “What? You’re actually looking forward to that?”

 

“Not at all, Fluff. It’s just that I happen to know of some exits and entrances on this building that the press doesn’t know about. We do have the option of sneaking out.”

 

“Of sneaking out?” she asked, slightly aghast. “Of a police station. To any other ears, that just sounds illegal.”

 

“Oh come on Carrots, you mean you never skipped out of school before?”

 

“I never missed a day unless I was sick.”

 

“Of course you would,” he grinned.

 

“And I guess you skipped school every other day, Mr. Wilde?”

 

“You could say that. I just kind of stopped going for a while, but I remembered to show for graduation.”

 

Judy chuckled. “Of course you would. Shall we?”

 

“We shall,” and the pair made to the back of the building, Judy following Nick. Leading her through several hallways, they came to a stop in front of a janitor’s closet.

 

Judy looked at him. “Alright, fess up. What’s the joke, Slick?”

 

He just grinned at the door, before pushing it open. Inside, a closet. No doors or windows. A push broom and a wash pale. A shelf of cleaner fluids, disinfectant, fur removal strips, a vacuum. Judy raised her eyebrows.

 

“This your idea of a good first impression for the ladies?” she inquired, shamelessly wiggling her eyebrows at him. His own eyebrows jumped once in return, and eyed the floor, wordlessly saying ‘look down.’

 

A tile floor. Inconspicuous. A handle, colored and flush with the tiling pattern–

 

Judy looked back at Nick, mouth now hanging open. “Bullshit,” she whispered. Nick reached down, and opened the hidden trap door. A tiny ladder led downwards, the smell of running water and mold rose up to meet them.

 

“Storm drainage,” he explained. “To control for flooding. You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to find this. Yes, it leads right outside to one of the drainage canals. And no, there’s no sewage down there. Scout’s honor.” He closed the janitor’s door.

 

“Unbelievable,” Judy muttered as she followed him down into the tunnel. Dark, as in, insanely uncomfortably dark. As in, the empirical definition of dark, the absence of light. “Seems to be made just for us,” Nick mentioned. “Doubt any mammals much bigger than me could fit through here. Now, remember, always take a right facing the ladder. One way, leads straight out.” He scampered back up the ladder to pull down the trap door, leaving them alone with the darkness.

 

In the dark, Judy felt Nick’s paw find her shoulder, then work its way down to her hand, taking light hold of her. They started walking in silence, a tiny dribble of water running under the paw pads.

 

Even against the invasive darkness, Judy was a little surprised at how well she was handling it. But there was a sole reason for that, one she knew, and that reason led her along with confidence. She could feel the end of his tail ghosting her ankles, as if making sure she was right behind him with every step.

 

In the dark, she felt safe to smile without any restraint, to blush, to enjoy this impromptu adventure with him.

 

After a little, they arrived, quite suddenly, into the night air. Nick had been right; it led to a drainage canal, into the open air and space of the city. But importantly, far, far away from the press.

 

“You know, we really should report this to Bogo,” Judy mentioned. “Integrity hazard for the building, it’s contents, and occupants.” The fox nodded once in agreement.

 

“We will,” he said in a way that she couldn’t discern if he wholly agreed or partially agreed with her. “Still pretty neat, though.”

 

“I’ll admit, a hidden gem of sorts,” Judy giggled. “May I ask why you went looking for exits in our building other than the front door?”

 

Nick didn’t have to think of the reason. “Always good to have an exit strategy,” he smiled at her, teeth a little extra white in the night.

 

Judy huffed in place of an actual laugh, before smiling back at him. “Still a sly fox.”

 

He gave her a playful wink. “Still a dumb bunny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right on time to usher in my favorite month of the year. I'm just beginning to see the horizon breaking! Only a few chapters to go! It's allllll going to start coming together . . .  
> as always, your questions and comments are deeply appreciated, dear readers.


	9. Funeral Parlor

As Nick and Judy went their respective ways for the night, Emilia Clarke was arriving at a small bar tucked into the veil of the Nocturnal District, aptly titled The Bar. She arrived at the behest of a letter she found tucked under her door, with a message written in exceptionally impressive calligraphy.

 

Miss Emilia Clarke,

I have taken notice of your piece in the Zootopia Times regarding the string of supposedly connected murders that have occurred. I would like to meet with you and discuss your findings. I may have something of interest to feed your investigative journalism. Quid Pro Quo, mind you.

Let’s talk over drinks at The Bar, Nocturnal District. 11 PM. Ask around the district if you are unable to find it. Please be timely.

A Good Samaritan.

 

Wise mammals forgive naiveté; the young only embody it.

 

Emilia indeed had to ask around. Nothing called ‘The Bar’ showed up on zoogle maps. Nothing called ‘The Bar’ was found on zoogle, period. And so she arrived a few streets off of Bourbon, and began asking. A dozen or so questionings later, and someone set her on the right path.

 

Dad was right. Always go with plenty of time to spare, she thought as she walked into a rather large building with a flashing neon sign that said OPEN DUSK TILL DAWN after searching for it for the better part of half an hour.

 

The inside was not what she was expecting. A billiards hall. Comfortable chairs and polished wooden tables. Excellent décor. A very, very expensive liquor selection at the bar itself. Quiet, smelling lightly of smoke. Empty.

 

Well, almost empty.

 

There was the bartender, a massive bat studiously washing drinking glasses. And there was one mammal, sitting bulls-eyed in the middle of the room, before the billiards area began. There was no band playing; the small stage was empty. The coyote walked over to him, and the mammal rose from his chair to meet her.

 

 _I know I’m straight as an arrow, but wow, that cat’s a head-turner_.

 

Dressed in a fitted three-piece suit, complete with a pocket square to accent his tie, was an ocelot. It was evident that under the suit was a strong and capable mammal. Not built to the point of being obscene through excessive muscle mass, but filled out in capable proportion. He was the kind of mammal that was clearly powerful without being demonstrative of it. The kind of mammal that won whatever fights he got into. She took hold of his outstretch paw even before introductions got underway.

 

Businessmen’s handshake. Firm, but not uncomfortable. Up, down, then return to middle, release.

 

“Hello, I’m Emilia Clarke. You must be –“

 

“The Good Samaritan, yes,” the ocelot concluded. He sat down first. Emilia, sensing immediately that this meeting was being conducted within the Samaritan’s control, followed suite.

 

“Does this Good Samaritan have a name?”

 

He stared at her for a moment, tilting his head, but seemed to ponder her.

 

She tried a little charm. “Oh c’mon, I told you my name. Surely you can tell me yours.” The front seemingly had no effect, at first.

 

“John Osman,” the cat spoke, before continuing, “I do hope you can forgive the secrecy around this, Miss Clarke. When dealing with such a sensitive matter, one can never be too careful.”

 

“And in what profession does a mammal like yourself find the need for secrecy about journalism?” Emilia asked him, paws folded down on her lap, holding her bag.

 

“I am in analytics. I study patterns for a living. All backed by calculations and predictive models.”

 

“Really? Emilia asked, hoping that she wasn’t betraying too much doubt. “How do you do that?”

 

A pause in the conversation. Emilia saw by the glint in his eyes that her question was not the right one to ask. After a moment, he answered.

 

“Regression equations translate past actions into prediction, Miss Clarke. I told you. Analytics. Data collection. The computers handle the equation modeling. I input, interpret, and make the appropriate decisions with what models the data produces.”

 

They sat in silence for a little more. Emilia went first this time.

 

“What did you want to talk about, Mr. Osman? As nice an establishment this is, I don’t think you brought me all the way out to the Nocturnal District to discuss calculus.”

 

Something like a flicker of a smile moved the ocelot’s face. Emilia instantly decided that it was an unpleasant reaction.

 

“Statistics, not calculus. But good. To the point, then. Miss Clarke, you haven’t been in the journalism field long, have you?”

 

She didn’t answer verbally but snorted out her nose before she could stop it, so he retaliated in turn.

 

“Pardon the rhetorical question. Of course you haven’t. Three years, if I’m not mistaken. You graduated with your BA in Journalism, top five in your major. Positive letters of recommendation from the Professors of the Journalism department at The University of Syracuse, which netted you a job at the Zootopia Times. The big leagues, right of the gate. Only, because you are not even at the big three O yet, and most of your esteemed colleague are well past that benchmark, you are resigned to the footnotes. Not by the caliber of your talent, but by the jealousy and fear that you will replace your older colleagues, the same colleagues that are good friends with the editor and chief of staff. And so, to the back pages you have been sitting, occasionally getting into the field to report on the same old, same old drivel that only a hand full of mammals pay attention to. How’s my comprehensive analysis of you so far?”

 

Emilia said nothing, and was fighting to keep her mouth closed, fighting from showing that his jabs were landing. The ocelot continued.

 

“So, three years go by, and you aren’t even making what you should be making by ONET’s standards. And, do correct me if I’m wrong, but your student loans came out of grace recently. That’s a big increase in money going out. Money you didn’t have. Until recently where, surprise – surprise, Emilia Clarke, a greenhorn journalist with a low pay grade at the bottom of the Times’ hierarchy, finds out about a series of connected killings, publishes it front page of the Times, does a brief stint as an interviewee on ZNN about said story, and now you have been put up on the tall pedestal with your more established colleagues. Who no doubt hate you a little more now. Substantial, if not still mediocre, payment included.”

 

“So. Disregarding the actual caliber of your talent as a journalist, what I find fascinating is that someone so new, so fresh off the mint like yourself, lacking any familial or social ties to more connected mammals, lands the story of the month. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers, claws emitting a powerful _crack!_ at the force. “All you’ve published is busy-body work. Small stories. Not interviews. Not digging into the filth and shit of this city. Nothing really testing your grit.”

 

The ocelot leaned in, paws folding on top of the table. “My question for you is: how does a starting journalist with so little actual field experience or established connections find this supposed connection between the murdered mammals?”

 

Emilia didn’t answer back. Her mind was swimming, heart sounding noticeably in her ears. And she locked gazes with a fierce yellow set of eyes that refused to waver from hers. Emilia wanted to be feeling angry, hurt, humiliated, violated, anything but . . . worried. This mammal knew everything that mattered about Emilia Clarke. And that was worrisome, putting it lightly.

 

“You said quid pro quo. Seems you’ve already got a good deal about me. Before I say anything, I think it’s only fair I get something from you.” She wanted to say more, but knew, greenhorn that she was, that it would seem weak, desperate. She didn’t have the ammo to even set up a bluff, and she feared the ocelot knew it.

 

“Alright,” the ocelot said to her, leaning back in his chair. “Do you have any idea of what you have done?”

 

“I did my job . . . ?”

 

He shook his head, eyes locked onto hers. “Your actions will predict the future, Miss Clarke.” He said it with such certainty, such severity as if it was not prediction but known fact. As if the ink of her story was already dried.

 

“I – I don’t –“

 

“You have set the wheel in motion, Miss Clarke. You reported on an active case. Made it public for the whole city and beyond to see. Now, what was the connection you alleged in your piece on the murders? The reason connecting all of them again?”

 

Again, Emilia said nothing. This was getting out of paw. The ocelot continued.

 

“Perhaps the reason itself does not matter the most at this moment. What does matter is that you found out about a case the ZPD was not willing to divulge on by its own accord, that you put your name and face out into the world with your story. Mammals are murdered every other day here. But three connected killings in such a short span of time? And all good, law-abiding prey citizens to boot? That’s a story everyone pays attentions to. And who killed them . . . why, everyone in this city is clamoring for that answer. The mob families? Independent crime syndicates? A monster parading around this city with a chip on his shoulder? That’s a fun one both pred and prey are running with. Mammals of interest, the point being. All of which now know who you are.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” was Emilia’s interjection. She was now acutely aware of how empty the room was. How the bartender paid them no attention. How unlikely this circumstance was due to chance.

 

“No, Miss Clarke, I am not threatening you. I am offering you a job.”

 

“A . . . job? This is all about a job?” Now, Emilia let her jaw hang open.

 

“It is.”

 

“Why on Earth would I take it?”

 

“Because at the organization I am apart of, we look after our own. And I guarantee your salary will exceed what the Times thought it could appropriate for you.”

 

“You’re saying I need protection?”

 

If he was getting impatient, the ocelot showed no signs of being in such a state. “Miss Clarke. Statistically, the chance that the perpetrators behind the crimes you’ve reported on having seen your article is well above ninety five percent. And your contact information, such as your LinkedIn, is public information. Easily accessible from a library computer. You are not difficult to locate.”

 

The predator leaned in again. “And I’m just headhunting. Imagine if someone _really_ wanted to get to you.”

 

Emilia caught his use of the plural of ‘perpetrator,’ but let him continue, mostly because of the lump that seemed lodged in her throat, right over her voicebox.

 

“So the organization I represent has offered both private security detail for you, as well as a substantially increased pay grade.” He paused. Emilia knew what was coming, and filled in the blank for him.

 

“Quid Pro Quo,” she muttered. The ocelot did not smile, merely nodded, and said, “All of this in exchange for exactly how you managed to find out and articulate such a story.”

 

Emilia Clarke, greenhorn journalist that she was, let slip what poor poker face she was wearing, her brow wrinkling, her mouth thinning into a taught line with her eyetooth biting her lip. The ocelot saw all of this, and said nothing.

 

The answer to his question wasn’t the upsetting factor, the upsetting factor was that her source in the ZPD, that creep Danny Powell, had gotten his dumb ass fired for trying to steal and pawn off lab equipment. He hadn’t told her, of course. That bit of information found its way into the papers. Go figure.

 

Her only working liaison to her big break had been fired, and now was a dead end in regards to information. Emilia couldn’t even fully answer the question to her possible new employer.

 

But that wasn’t the only part of it. The other part of her hesitation was the ocelot in question. Her hindbrain, her instinctual drive, was subtly saying to her ‘no no no something is wrong here’. But as to what exactly was wrong, she could not pinpoint.

 

“Is it an informant,” the ocelot prodded in a quiet voice, ignoring the eyes of the bartender. “An insider on The Force?”

 

Was, Emilia thought. So deep in thought that she was unaware that she barely, silently lipped ‘was’. So deep in thought that she didn’t see the ocelot’s eyes catch the slip up. Didn’t see his eyes widen.

 

Emilia looked up to John Osman. “I want it written out in a contract that I’ll get the job before I start giving out information.”

 

The ocelot looked at her, unresponsive for a moment, before calling her bluff. “You don’t have anything, do you?”

 

He caught her flinch. His strike was true, as were his suspicions. He sighed, making sure she didn’t see the tension leave his shoulders, before stating, “then it would appear you are not the right asset my organization is looking for. Thank you for coming all this way to talk, Miss Clarke, but I’m afraid without any current material of interest to trade, then you are not for us. Good night.”

 

Emilia knew when she was being shown the door, knew that the conversation was well over, and rose and started to the exit. The Bar was quiet as she walked, no footsteps behind her. She exited into the night air, into the distant liveliness that was Bourbon Street. Now running, Emilia rounded the corner of the building, and stopped, heart hammering, keeping her ears pressed to the corner to detect the swing of a door and the rapid fall of footsteps surely following after her.

 

A minute went by. Complete silence on the street. After five minutes of waiting, she exhaled, and left the safety of the side street to start her way back into the city.

 

As she walked home, their encounter replayed in her head, an awful and disquieting surreal frame of troubling moments that the coyote couldn’t decipher.

 

_Your actions will predict the future, Miss Clarke._

 

~

 

Back in The Bar, the ocelot stared at the table, calculating.

 

_Dumb, blind luck. That was all it was. She has nothing to go off of, nothing to take, and therefore the police either don’t or are only starting to._

 

He got up, and made his way to the counter, to a large Flying fox named Renfield. The Ocelot reached into his jacket. The flying fox watched with removed caution.

 

The ocelot produced a crimson envelope, bulging with content. He placed it in front of the bartender.

 

“For your employer’s generosity,” he said, motioning to the establishment, before heading out as well.

 

Renfield took the envelope and placed it under the counter, before calling to the predator leaving the establishment. “He thanks you for your business, sir.”

 

~

 

**The Next Morning**

 

Emilia Clarke’s actions would indeed predict the future, if not impact it.

 

A cape buffalo reread yesterday’s Times, reread the headlines, reread the mammals murdered. Oh, he had gone over their names over and over, the familiarity of their phonetics having an iron grip on his horns, keeping his head glued to the front of the newspaper. His stomach, feeling like an increasingly unfamiliar tumor in his body, coiled and seeming to pull impossibly downwards, as if trying to escape him.

 

He reached for his phone and entered a number manually, one of a select few he had committed exclusively to memory.

 

It rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. And then was answered.

 

“What?” her singular answer. Tight, unpleasant, crisp. Annoyed.

 

“Have you read the news?” As if the buffalo had to ask.

 

There was a long pause, and Ernest looked at his phone to see if she had hung up. She hadn’t. “Are you still there?”

 

She answered. “Yes, and yes.”

 

Ernest rubbed his chin, finding the sensation of touching his own face unpleasant. “We need to involve the police. It is clear we cannot wait this out, as you so suggested. Time to come clean.” Silence again, followed by a long sigh before she spoke back.

 

“I think that’s too little, too late, Mr. Walton,” The giraffe answered. He hated how resigned she sounded. Like she had already figured it out. It made is blood curdle.

 

“You have any idea what is happening?” he hissed into the phone. “Have any idea what’s going to happen to me!? Simon, Matthew, and Marcy are all DEAD. All within a few days time. I said, we-“

 

“I heard you loud and clear, you pompous ass,” she caught him off. “I’m not calling the police. They will not and cannot help us. I’ll deal with it on my own, as I suggest you should as well. Do not ever call me again.” She hung up.

 

He stared at his phone, at the CALL ENDED message on the screen, in disbelief. That bitch, he thought. Selfish, irrational, fucking bitch She hung up on _me_!

 

The cape buffalo, Ernest Walton, started dialing again, this number far easier to remember than hers.

 

This time, he anticipated, the call would’ve been answered by the second ring. By the seventh ring, and feeling his blood pressure start to spike, he was surprised at the cheery voice that greeted him.

 

“Thank you for calling the Zootopia Police Department. This is Officer Clawhouser speaking, how may I assist you today?”

 

Ernest swallowed. _I cannot believe this is happening, this is not happening_.

 

“Yes, hello. I have information regarding the three murders reported in yesterday’s paper. I would like to arrange a meeting with Officer Hopps about the speciest killer case she is working.”

 

~

 

Danielle O’Hearst pocketed her phone as well as the awful feeling that started burrowing through her chest the moment she recognized the number. It had been a mistake answering it. It was all long past.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a male wolf, Shane Richardson, as he sat down in front of her at their table. The pair of them unjustly requisitioned stares from the other patrons at the restaurant. A giraffe and a timber wolf? Sitting together? Times were indeed getting stranger.

 

A pair of sheep one table over made their staring too blatant. Shane issued an audible growl, plus teeth, in their direction, and both meekly bleated, retreating back to safety behind their menus.

 

Even though she wanted her reaction to be stern, Danielle couldn’t help the impressed giggle escaping her. “You’re gonna get us kicked out,” she said in a way that was not at all accusatory, negative, nor fearing actual consequence.

 

Shane snorted, returning her smile with his own. “Big bad wolf scares sheep, I know, I know, too easy. I don’t give a damn what others think about us. If they’re bothering you, we can go.” He said the last sentence with extra sincerity, now examining her face to betray any of the discomfort she may be feeling.

 

She felt her heart melt just a little, and placed a hoof on his paw. “No, sweetie. I’m perfectly fine if you are. Told you, this is one of my favorite places. Others are just staring because they’re jealous. Are you okay?”

 

“Of course I’m okay,” he smiled in that delightfully happy-if-not-a-little-foolish kinda way she loved, with that purposefully false bravado that made here both roll her eyes and admire him all in one go. “I’m with you. How could I not be?”

 

At Le Pain Quotidien, a nice French restaurant in Savannah Central, Danielle O’Hearst, a giraffe, broke bread with a wolf, Shane Richardson. And since meeting the wolf, and by necessity, his entire pack (since you cannot have one without the rest), who sat around them at various other tables in a poor but well meaning attempt at privacy, Danielle felt . . . elated? Happy? Fulfilled, excited, scared out of her mind, but still happy??

 

Changed. For the better.

 

Something just behind her blissful conscious started yelling into the void.

 

_Can’t last won’t last was never meant to last_

 

His smile, the easy happiness behind it, silenced the wicked thing in the back of her head. With it, she pushed the conversation she had just excused herself out of her head. Their waiter arrived. A small leopard, immaculately dressed with an elegant poise, carrying their entrees.

 

“For the lady, the Capricorn Salad. Shaved asparagus with a celery root remoulade, Yukon potatoes, aged gouda, hazelnuts, and fresh picked oyster mushrooms. For the gentleman, tofu steak, seared in butter and garlic with cayenne, black pepper, and truffle shavings.” Next, the waiter produced a bottle of wine. “To pair with your entrees, I have selected Banduae Serventes, 2002. Crisp, light notes to accent your meal’s profile.” He opened and poured for them both.

 

The leopard stood back, seeming to survey the meals he had just laid out for others, before saying, “Enjoy,” and walking away to service the next customers. Danielle watched him walk away with a bewildered smile. The giraffe, while quite aware of height in mammals, had also never seen a leopard so short.

 

“That’s one helluva lunch,” Shane commented, before seeing what held Danny’s attention. “Checking out the wait staff I see,” the wolf teased, bringing her attention back to her date.

 

“Did you see that, too?”

 

“Sorry Danny, my door swings one way.”

 

She couldn’t help the snort of a laugh. “No I mean the waiter, how short he was.”

 

“Danny, no offense, but the whole ‘height’ thing with you . . . isn’t everyone else a little vertically challenged, including your wolf over here?” the wolf opened his arms and gestured to himself. Now, she couldn’t help the small good-natured laughter he so easily drew from her.

 

“Alright, alright good point.” She started to eat, as did he, when she leaned over their table (height = neck length = easy to reach) and touched noses with him for a moment. He held the pose with her, both so content and happy with the gesture, uncaring of anyone in the restaurant who thought otherwise.

 

~

 

Approximately two hours after Danielle and Shane had their lunch, Nick and Judy arrived in front of Louis’ Italian Restaurant. The meeting place their supposed ‘informant who will stop the humiliatingly slow progress of the investigation’ had set up (his words, not there’s). Tiny, hole in the wall, classical Italian dinner bistro. From the large side windows, they saw that the establishment was packed.

 

“Safety in numbers,” Nick muttered as they strode up to the front door.

 

They failed to notice the mammal who was sitting on the bus bench across the street. The one who put his newspaper down to stare at them, before getting up and walking across the street in their direction.

 

Their entrance instantly hushed the crowd, all prey mammals. All eyes went on the pair of officers standing in the doorway. Many unpleasant stares were leveled at them. Gazes that brought to Judy’s mind one of the many ugly little truths of society Nick had imparted on her.

 

_A fox is near the bottom of the totem pole, Carrots. Never forget that. Even other preds will look down on us for what we are. Between us, the hyenas, and the weasels, you can’t go much lower. You’ll find that society still loves reminding us of that._

 

Both officers knew that the attention was really for only one of them. So Judy let him take the lead. Even if it wasn’t in the procedural handbook, Judy had no qualms about dispensing civilized social justice. Or more specifically, letting a fox be the one to deliver the lessons. Nick deserved that, and guessing (more knowing, deep down) that the muzzle incident was not the first discriminatory act committed against him, Judy was happy to let him own what was long coming.

 

“Well, by all accounts, please don’t stop for us,” Nick said loud enough to make sure everyone heard him. At the small bar, the wildebeest bartender stood, arms crossed, next to his moveable RIGHT OF REFUSAL sign. He stood with the same gaze the ice cream bartender elephant had the day Judy met Nick.

 

Outside, on the other side of the car parked in front of the restaurant, the mammal that followed Nick and Judy across the street inspected the back left side.

 

“Oh, now, I know a nice guy like you doesn’t really believe in that little sign. Not that it would have much effect at this particular moment anyway on One: account of us being police officers, and Two: my partner and I can and will arrest and prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law for obstructing an officer and obstructing an active investigation. And those charges aren’t a few days in the slammer.” Nick let the words sink a little before continuing, grinning ear to ear.

 

“No, we’re talking at least a month for getting in a police officer’s way, and years for obstructing a murder investigation. Who’s gonna be running your restaurant when you’re working in the prison cafeteria? How’s gonna be paying your bills, friend? I can tell you right now I won’t be lending a helping hand, so be a smart lad and put that away.”

 

The wildebeest, arms now falling to his sides and face going white, put his RIGHT OF REFUSAL sign underneath the counter.

 

“Smart move, guy,” Nick said in a chipper voice. “Now, we’re looking for a certain someone. Some mammal by the name of Erne-“

 

A cape buffalo sat up in the middle of the crowd, his face crossed between what could possibly be fury and what would definitely be panic. Or something more damning and pressing. He waved them over, glaring at Nick as they waltzed his way.

 

“I thought I asked specifically for Officer Hopps,” the cape buffalo hissed as Nick requisitioned a chair from another table and pulled it next to the one Judy seated herself in. They sat on one side of the table, facing Ernest and looking to the back of the restaurant, their own backs towards the large windowpanes of the front.

 

“You did,” Judy deadpanned back, looking unimpressed. “And I brought Officer Wilde with me because it’s standard procedure to go on patrol in pairs.”

 

The buffalo looked at Nick, who still grinning from ear to ear, before saying, “You couldn’t have picked another prey mammal as your partner?”

 

“Oh, I could have, Ernest Walton. But I purposefully picked him. Exemplary officer, model citizen, even more so because he’s refraining from writing you up from obstruction of justice.”

 

“For what?!” The cape buffalo looked genuinely surprised and offended, as if he was the one being slighted.

 

Judy continued, her face slowly transforming from the growing anger. “For calling on-duty officer’s out of their patrol to sit them down in an openly speciest restaurant, distracting them from the duties as public servants, obstructing the due process of justice, and giving bogus information regarding an active murder case. Officer Wilde, did I miss anything?”

 

“No ma’am, that seems to be what I’m ready to start writing down,” the fox said with a smile that made the blood boil under Ernest’s skin.

 

“Start talking and making this worth our time or he starts reading your Miranda Rights while I place you in the back of the cruiser,” Judy commanded.

 

“Okay okay,” the buffalo immediately retreated, putting his hooves up in surrender while lowering his voice. “And for your information, Officer, my information is anything but bogus. Rather, you’ll find that what I have to say will lead you to the truth regarding this ‘speciest killer’ case you’re working.”

 

When he said the words ‘speciest killer’, both officers noticed something. Ernest grinned and issued a small grunt, barely passable for a laugh, but a condescending gesture at those two words. He paused, looking at her mostly, with sideways glances at Nick.

 

The server, a female mountain goat, walked over, setting a dish in front Ernest. She didn’t wait for Nick or Judy to ask for anything, but leaned over to Ernest and whispered something in his ear.

 

Judy heard the goat’s comment, while Nick only caught Ernest’s reply, hushed as it was. The cape buffalo dismissed the server, and she rolled her eyes behind him, walking back to the kitchen.

 

Ernest began cutting his food, addressing the officers again. “I want full police protection.” Ernest said through a mouthful of greens, dripping with dressing, and let the comment settle on them.

 

“Pardon?” Judy asked in a combination of disbelief and growing agitation.

 

“Full police detail and protection in exchange for information that will bring closure to your case.” He continued cutting into the assorted greens and fruits on his plate, taking a big mouthful while staring at the officers.

 

Nick and Judy exchanged a brief look, a pass where they measured each other in the span of seconds, before turning back to Ernest. The buffalo’s face betrayed no possible farce. Rather, he looked pleased, as if this was the best possible course of action. Nick felt the grin starting to leave his face.

 

“You think you’re information is so vital to our investigation it warrants police protection,” Judy slowly stated.

 

Ernest took another bite, chewed, swallowed, before looking up to them. “I don’t _think_ , Officer Hopps. I _know_.”

 

The next few minutes would pass by with the conscious degree of a second. Whatever Ernest Walton was going to say next, and whatever response Judy and Nick were preparing to deliver, was entirely eclipsed by the deafening explosion that shattered the front windows of the restaurant into a flurry of glass shards.

 

**~ A few minutes earlier in front of a small eatery ~**

 

There are many lessons to be learned in youth. When to know someone is making fun of you. Knowing how to tie your shoelaces. Understanding why it’s never polite to tug someone’s tail. Knowing that claws are sharp. Knowing that fire burns.

 

The killer learned another valuable lesson concerning fire and flashpoints when he was still a cub. One he considered while unscrewing the gas cap from the side of the car nearest the windows of the restaurant Nick and Judy had walked into. He took out a kerchief and his lighter, igniting one end of the cloth, and placed the avant-garde fuse it into the gas port, sealing it closed.

 

He made his way to the back of the restaurant, keeping a brisk but unsuspicious pace from the retrograde car-bomb. An important lesson learned early in his youth, when he did not yet possess the strength alone to effectively kill, and had to rely on extrinsic methods.

 

Gasoline, as a fluid, burns. Gasoline vapors, on the other hand, explode.

 

**~ Back to an explosion in front of a small eatery ~**

 

The sensation of the explosion overriding all senses in all mammals in the restaurant made the area of void of noise or feeling for all in the first second. The mammals seated closest to the window suffered the worst injuries. Lacerations from head to toe. A few fingers blown off. Ends of ears melted. Fur melted and singed to the skin.

 

Nick and Judy instantly dropped to the floor; neither recalled how exactly they got there. For a moment they both stared at each other, minds coming up blank as to what had happened. Judy’s ears rang in a high pitch whistling, drowning out the screams that were starting to crash into her eardrums.

 

Nick’s hearing, less sensitive than his partner’s, wasn’t as concussed, and the growing sounds of pain and panic snapped his training into high gear. He lounged at Judy, glancing and inhaling around her body for any traces of wounds.

 

“You hit?” he yelled at her. “Are you hit?”

 

His reaction snapped Judy into action. Her paws flew over her torso and head, then onto Nick’s. “No, fine. You?”

 

Truthfully, he felt a little numb all over, like he was tipsy. Nick took that as a good sign. He nodded in response.

 

Nick looked up, and saw two things that would make their case that much worse.

 

Ernest was on the ground, not moving. The buffalo stared up at the ceiling, eyes fixated forward.

 

Behind him, back towards the kitchen door, their server, the female goat, stood still watching the scene unmoving. Her expression was horrified, mouth hanging open, as she observed the chaos. She looked at Nick, her eyes widening, and bolted for the kitchen.

 

Nick was up and running after her while screaming, “Hopps! Pursuing Server! Call it in, check on Walton, CALL IT IN!”

 

Judy did exactly that, not wasting a moment consciously thinking, only acting. She sped to Walton’s body, radioing in a quick and concise recalling of what had just happened.

 

A white foam pooled from Ernest’s mouth, running down the side of his neck. She pressed two fingers to his neck, under the jawline, searching for a pulse.

 

Nothing. Warm body, no breath, no . . .

 

There was something. Not a heart beat, but an extremely fast pounding beneath the skin. The numbness of surviving the explosion had momentarily deadened her sense of touch. Ernest Walton’s heart was beating so fast the sinew holding it in his ribs was beginning to tear.

 

Nick burst through the kitchen doors. No one, empty, quiet once the doors shut out the screams from the dining area. He could clearly smell the goat, and started running to the back. He guessed she had made for the rear exit, and was correct in his assumption.

 

Nick exited the building, weapon drawn and searching. A back alley, littered in trash, weeds, and dumpsters. Down at the end, he saw the goat server turn and exit the alley onto the street.

 

Ernest’s server, Shelley, a goat who was so far in over in her head she didn’t even know she was yet drowned, turned onto the street and saw the cat who had put her up to it.

 

She walked up to him, as he walked away from the restaurant as if nothing had happened. The street was crowded, plenty of mammals walking towards where they heard an explosion, where they heard the growing dim of screams. She, and the cat, walked against the crowd.

 

Not wanting to draw more attention to herself, a mistake she would regret in approximately SIX seconds, she came up to him, grabbed his shoulders, and whispered, “What in the fuck was that!? Did you know about that!?” FIVE

 

The mammal spun around the meet her gaze, and the goat stopped talking. FOUR

 

The killer looked to the left. THREE. A lion, like every other mammal on the street walking by them, was about to move past the killer and the goat. Ahead of him, a small unit of sheep. TWO

 

 _That will suffice._ ONE

 

The killer motioned to Shelley to lean in. Wordlessly, she did, and to replicate to the execution on the subway platform, the killer’s paw flew to her throat, claws easily puncturing her neck. With his feet, he posited them behind hers, simultaneously slashing her throat and pushing her body away from him and into the path of the lion.

 

The lion in question barely managed to catch the goat that somehow fell into him. She was holding her throat when she fell onto him, and the force moved her hands away.

 

When Nick Wilde sped around the corner onto the street, he watched as a city, saturated in fear of a serial killer targeting prey mammals, biases notwithstanding, came unglued as fountains of blood painted a lion and several sheep.

 

Car bomb + bleeding out mammal/predator in a crowded street = societal chaos = sufficient exit strategy.

 

A single police officer, a fox, tried to calm down the chaos, tried to contain the panic and fear that spread like a virus through that street and would spread further into the city, while a killer walked away, hearing the car alarms, screams, and wails reverberate against his ears.

 

From the sounds alone, he didn’t need to turn and assess the damage.

 

~

 

Beyond the murders and the car bomb, the day managed to become that much worse when Judy arrived onto that busy street corner to assist her partner.

 

The latent fear, hardwired into her hindbrain from all of evolution’s creation, manifested itself, started in her nose. There was blood everywhere. Fresh blood. Screams that were not like anything she had ever heard of in mediums like television or film. Honest to God screams of pain and terror. Scents of piss and adrenaline and blood and gore.

 

She first smelled it. Hot, acrid, coppery, syrupy fluid that stuck to the back of her throat as it made its way into her lungs. It almost choked her on how repugnant it was. Saw the blood on the macadam.

 

Judy then saw the lion, covered in it. A singular rope of dripping blood hanging off his muzzle. Bared teeth. Paws up and claws out. Eyes wide and searching. Chest heaving. She locked up. Right there, Judy Hopps locked up. Tens of thousands of years of evolutionary hardwiring flew on, commanded and screamed that she run for her life.

 

DANGER DANGER DANGER RUN RUN RUN. Pure, yet struggling, conscious willpower kept her from running, kept her glued to the spot on the side of the street.

 

And then she saw Nick.

 

A fox. Dripping in blood, holding a bleeding out goat. Eyes wide, teeth bared. Growling and barking at all of the screaming prey mammals around him and the lion.

 

A record skipped. A scream and a flash of pain. Past meets present determines future. Something snapped then realigned. A flicker of a signal, transmitted in part and received improperly.

 

Judy felt herself go blank, and operated on unconscious autopilot until backup arrived.

 

When she became consciously aware of the state of her being, she was in the back of squad car. Trunkaby was driving, with another officer riding shotgun. Her partner sat in the back with her, but sat as far from her as possible, pressed almost up into the door, staring out the window.

 

Nick didn’t say a word to her on the way back. Didn’t even look at her. Purposefully ignored her.

 

She tried to talk, to say anything, but couldn’t find any words to do so. No one spoke. By the time they reached the station, Judy felt sick to her stomach.

 

Something . . . was wrong. It was all wrong. Their investigation continued to go wrong. Their competencies as police officers were wrong.

 

Their relationship was now wrong.

 

The stench of dried blood permeated the squad car. Something. Was. Wrong.

 

~

 

Judy and Dr. Kaufman stared at two new bodies in the ZPD’s morgue. A female mountain goat, Shelley Yont, and a male cape buffalo, Ernest Walton.

 

Ernest Walton, the cape buffalo who now, without a shadow of a doubt, did have something worth contributing to their case, now dead. Kaufman said she knew how he went, and would wait for Nick to arrive to share her findings, who had gone to the shower room to wash off the goat’s blood that had found its way to him. Should be along any minute, she muttered to herself.

 

Three deaths that are on your head, Judy thought to herself. Three deaths that you could have – should have – prevented.

 

_We are preventative. We are reactive. We should be both. We were neither. We let mammals die._

 

The awful silence was broken as the elevator doors opened, and Nick Wilde strode into the autopsy room, smelling entirely like soap and disinfectant. He was wearing his mask, the ‘don’t let them see that they get to you’ mask. It seemed to rest on his head off-centered, unnaturally, making him look and appear fraudulent. A conman walking around in police blues.

 

He strode up to them, without giving Judy a single look or greeting. “So, have you found out how Mr. Walton passed away, Doctor?” The unpleasantly strong smell of soap filled Judy’s nostrils, and she winced.

 

“I do, Officer Wilde. Poison. Specifically, aconitum. Common names include monkshood and wolf’s bane. Acted within a few moments of indigestion, resulted in ventricular arrhythmias and subsequent asystole.” The porcupine looked at Judy and Nick, who looked back with blank expressions.

 

“When he ate it, the poison rushed to his heart and ramped up his heart rate until the heart essentially tore itself apart and then stopped beating. Cardiac arrest is what killed him.”

 

“How on Earth did he ingest it?” Nick asked.

 

It clicked in her mind, and Judy let out a long sigh. “His salad. CSI found a mortar and pestle in the kitchen, filled with purple flower petals. That’s the monkshood plant, isn’t it, doctor?”

 

The doctor nodded. “She ground it up, probably slipped the mixture into the dressing to disguise the taste, and there we have it.”

 

They looked at the goat, Shelley Yont. More specifically, the large red crescent of a cut through her neck.

 

“Why’d she do it?” Judy asked.

 

“Could’ve been threatened. Could’ve been in on it. Could’ve been mislead as to what she was doing,” Nick speculated.

 

Neither spoke for a while. Dr. Kaufman walked over to a cabinet, grabbing modeling clay, and proceeded to the goat’s corpse.

 

“It’ll be the same depth and width as the cut in Marcy Kelt’s throat,” Nick more stated than guessed to everyone in the room.

 

“It most likely will be,” Dr. Kaufman agreed as she began spreading the paste around Shelley Yont’s opened throat.

 

~

 

Nick and Judy stared at the bulletin board of their case in the Major Crimes Office. A collage of the deceased’s photos, notes upon notes upon notes of relevant details and circumstance. At least, details they had discovered and postulated upon.

 

Judy looked at Nick, who she could tell was making a point to not look at her.

 

_Something is wrong._

 

Judy tucked the awful feeling away, forced down the urge to break down and ask – beg, if she had – what the fox was thinking, focusing back on the now. A time and a place for everything. At least if they were talking procedure, he would engage with her. “Alright. So our perp, in the assassination of Ernest Walton, saw us go into the restaurant to meet him. Walton was claiming he had information that would greatly help us.”

 

“And our killer decided that a car bomb would be a fantastic distraction while the poison administered by Shelley Yont took effect. And made the likelihood of us having any real chance of saving Walton close to zero. Whatever Shelley Yont had to do with it, I don’t think she was a conscious participant in his murder.”

 

“How so?” And this was how they would go. Back and forth, testing their arguments, making sure they were on the same page. The familiarity of it was welcomed for both parties, even if neither would admit to it.

 

“Like I said earlier, when I saw her, she had the ‘oh shit’ look on her face. Chasing her, I could smell the fear on her. It was palpable. If she was in on the plot to murder Walton, I think the other party would have warned her about the bomb. But, we’re burying the lead here.” Nick motioned to the board of the murdered. The board splattered with notes and papers and pictures and ink. Plenty of dried ink.

 

Judy sighed and put her face in her small paws. “We can’t keep doing this.” She didn’t bother looking up. Didn’t see her partner look at her. “We cannot keep playing catch up to a trail of dead bodies. We are supposed to be preventative. I cannot keep being reactive to more and more dead bodies, just showing up to look at dead mammals and telling their families we weren’t fast enough, weren’t smart enough to stop or catch their killer.”

 

“No more bodies,” Judy muttered to herself. “We cannot keep coming up short with more bodies.” She did not see her partner’s face drop, but heard him exhale. A tired, sad, and remorseful sound.

 

They both became aware of a presence entering the room behind them. Captain Ashmore quietly strode in, eyeing their investigation.

 

“Please, do not mind me. Only hear to observe. And no, this is not a test. Merely a passing observation of your work.”

 

Nick and Judy looked at each other. Ashmore saw the soundless communication between them. Also caught the awkwardness as Nick looked at prematurely, as Judy stared at him with a remorseful expression. Judy turned to the Captain.

 

“Actually, Captain Ashmore, it would be greatly appreciated if we could get some of your input on this. I think we are in need of a third set of eyes and ears to go over this.” Judy paused, before quickly adding, “Not to waste any of your time, of course! If you are busy, Officer’s Wilde and I can certainly –“ She was cut off by a quiet wave of the cheetah’s paw. A soft smile briefly flashed on Ashmore’s face. He strode up to the board, standing between them, face resetting to its normally stoic default.

 

“Alright. Walk me through everything you have so far.”

 

They did.

 

“All of this,” Ashmore started when the pair took a break from talking, “but how is your perp finding them? And therefore choosing them?”

 

Behind him, at the conference table, Nick smacked his head onto the hard plastic. “We can’t figure that out. The damning thing is that some of them new each other, and a few seemed to know that something bad was going to happen, but no one ever explicitly says what it is. A select few knew a select few.”

 

Ashmore made no show of confusion or impatience. “Explain.”

 

Judy took over. “Well, Simon DuLarge and Marcy Kelt were in contact briefly with each other right before each was murdered. But Simon DuLarge was also in brief contact with Matthew Feldman. Same circumstance. Panicked texts asking to meet up, Marcy said sure, Matthew said no. All three are dead.”

 

“And then we have the next two,” Nick took over. “Ernest Walton and Shelley Yont, along with a nine mammals that are in the hospital awaiting skin grafts and cauterizations for missing fingers and singed ears. Although I strongly believe that Ernest was the sole target on account of his claim of valuable information and the poisoning. CSI matched cell phone calls between Ernest and Matthew, but there’s no actual recording or write up about what they spoke about.”

 

“And the mountain goat? Shelley Yont?” Ashmore asked aloud.

 

“Again, I just don’t see her being a part of it,” Nick replied.

 

Ashmore turned to Nick. “You said you caught a glimpse of her before she fled and you pursued. What was her face like? Describe it, describe how she acted after the explosion.”

 

“Shocked. Bewildered. Scared. If she was really a part of killing Ernest Walton, she wasn’t told there was A. going to be a bomb, or B. wasn’t even aware that they were going to be poisoning a cape buffalo in the middle of a restaurant. Pursuing her, I could also smell how scared she was.”

 

“Dr. Kaufman also concluded that the gash in Shelley Yont’s throat is nearly identical to the one in Marcy Kelt. The clay mold from one wound pretty much fits in both females without any forcing or wiggle room. To quote the doctor, it’s about 95% likely that it’s the same killer,” Judy said.

 

“And your perp. What is it?”

 

“Small cat, judging by the claw marks alone. Smaller than a lion or tiger, but not as small as a polecat. Somewhere in the middle.”  

 

“Walk me through why you think it’s a serial killer,” Ashmore instructed.

 

“Well, the victims have two similarities across them,” Nick said, holding up his paw and counting on two digits. “All prey, and all speciest.”

 

“What proof do you have that they were all speciest, Officer Wilde?”

 

“Well, Marcy Kelt and Ernest Walton were not at all pleased that I was a part of the investigation. Simon DuLarge’s father, Dalton, made it abundantly clear that he and his son think preds are natural born killers.”

 

Ashmore stared at Nick, tilting his head. “ _We_ are just that, Officer Wilde. To say that you and I came out of the womb not equipped with natural weapons and the capacity to use them would be a lie.” Silence filled the room. Ashmore looked back at the board, Nick looked to the floor, and Judy did not feel comfortable looking anywhere.

 

“What factual, concrete proof do you have that they were speciest, Officers?”

 

Now, Judy and Nick looked at each other. “There’s evidence that Marcy and Simon visited prey supremacist websites. Simon frequently commented on them,” Nick stated.

 

“Were any of the comments threats or actions that he could have carried out?”

 

“No. Angry rants saying that preds belong anywhere but here.”

 

“Do any of your victims have arrest records?”

 

“No,” Judy said in an octave lower than what she should have been at.

 

“Any record of even being investigated in any crimes?”

 

“No,” the rabbit said again, a little smaller this time.

 

Ashmore went and sat down at the conference table, drumming his clawed fingers on the tabletop. In his view were a rabbit, a fox, and a board full of murdered mammals.

 

“I suspect that you need to look at your case from a different perspective. Abandon the serial killer angle for now. You don’t have ample support to build a case with that conclusion in mind.”

 

“Why’s that?” Nick asked. “So far, the case and its circumstances point at a habitual killer –“

 

Again, Captain Ashmore raised a single finger, wordlessly asking Wilde to shut his mouth with a glare that commanded so. Nick stopped talking and listened.

 

“It is true that by the numbers alone, you have what looks like a serial killer case. More than three victims. But there are problems. The ZBI, and most cases, defines a serial killer as an individual that kills more than three mammals over a minimum month’s time. There typically needs to be evidence of a ‘cool off’ period. Almost all serial killers caught have had such a period. Your killer has been increasing his count over the course of three days. He or she is in a rush.”

 

Nick and Judy stayed silent, sitting at the head of the table and staring at their Captain. Ashmore continued.

 

“I have worked a serial killer case before. Consulted on, I should clarify. And by the end, before we found our perp, there was a pattern, hidden at first, but a presentable pattern nonetheless that followed a logic. The perp for that case had a clear MO. One they followed. One we were able to figure out and clarify by the end.”

 

As much as both Judy and Nick wanted to hear the whole details of the Carmine Butcher for the mammal himself who saw the end of that notorious case, they kept their mouths closed and their questions for another day.

 

Ashmore waved to the board. “What do you have here? Mammals of all different sexes and species, different ages, wildly differing kill methods, an accelerated killing schedule. Use of distractions, such as an improvised roadside bomb, on police presence to better tip the chances of death in the perp’s favor. An accomplice that is discarded within immediacy of the crime being committed, and is only used once, mind you. Sure, all prey and some speciest, but Matthew Feldman was a closeted homosexual with a predator-focused sexual preference. Your perp clearly knew that, utilizing one of Feldman’s long-weekend getaway spots, but killed him anyway. It breaks the pattern.

 

“Officer Wilde, did you see anything else noteworthy about Shelley Yont before the explosion?”

 

Nick thought for a moment. His eyebrows furrowed. “She whispered to Ernest Walton. Right before she served him.” The fox slowly turned to Judy.

 

“You didn’t happen to catch what –“

 

“What she said?” Judy finished, face pinched in thought. She looked back at the fox. “Yes, yes I did.”

 

Judy recalled the exchange out loud.

 

“I’m sorry sir, but your other card was also declined.”

 

Nick massaged his eyes. “We found a cash wad in Shelley Yont’s personal belongings. Two hundred bucks. Twenties. Tucked into a concealable inner pocket, almost out of view if you just looked into her purse. Could be her emergency money. Could be our perp’s pay off.”

 

Ashmore raised his eyebrows, a curious look on his face, and started for the door. “I’d suggest looking a little deeper into that angle. Follow your instincts, officers. It’ll likely lead you to the truth. Just make sure whatever you arrive at has evidence backing it,” he said as he walked out of the conference room.

 

Alone again in the silence of the Major Crimes Unit, Judy turned to Nick. “Did you also catch –“

 

Nick was on the same page as his partner. “What Ernest did when he mentioned speciest killer? Yeah, he snorted, like he was laughing.”

 

“Like he found the idea of it . . . ridiculous,” Judy muttered.

 

“And when Shelley told him his cards were declined?”

 

“That he had been coming there for years and they could damn well swing a meal or two for a loyal customer . . . “

 

A thought wedged itself in the forefront of Nick Wilde’s mind, a string that he grasped onto and started pulling. “We also found a stack of money with Marcy Kelt, didn’t we?” Judy looked at him. “Yeah, but we thought that that was her bug out money, her last wad of cash? Nick, are you suggesting –“

 

But the fox caught her train of thought and stopped her. “No no no, not that Marcy was paid off. But the fact that she was carrying that money with her. About a thousand dollars.” He held up his paw in thought. “Now, if I had to suddenly leave this city, I’d take all of the money I could get my hands on. And Marcy Kelt only took a thousand dollars.”

 

He looked at Judy, eyes calculating. “Why didn’t she stop at an ATM to just start withdrawing whatever she had left in her accounts?”

 

Judy’s eyes widened. “What time do the banks close?” She asked him.

 

Nick glanced at his phone. 6:48 PM. “Typically around 8. Why?” But he was asking the empty space Judy Hopps previously identified. She was out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Checking on something! Be right back! Guard the fax machine! Papers incoming!”

 

~

 

Captain Ashmore walked by the conference room that was the Major Crime Unit’s hub for the second time that evening. Officer’s Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde had a whole tree’s worth of paper spread out across the table. Red string and sticky notes forming what was hopefully a loose narrative. They talked quickly, pointing and writing down unknown thoughts and trails.

 

And the cheetah saw it in their faces. The look of it all coming together. The building excitement in both of their faces, in the ghosts of smiles that sparked in and out of existence like flashes of fire in a pan. Hopeful they were onto something.

 

~

 

At precisely 8:31 PM, Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde discovered something. They discovered several somethings.

 

As Ashmore predicted, it all came together with startling speed.

 

Chief Bogo was sitting at his desk, giving the reports one last read through, when his door was kicked in. Most mammals would have jumped in surprise at the unexpected and startling action.

 

Chief Bogo was not ‘most mammals.’

 

Instead, whereas most mammals would duck for cover, the cape buffalo rose, his decades of police experience immediately thrusting his hoof to the handle of his trusted revolver, which hung diligently on his left side. He only stopped from drawing when he recognized the tiny orange and grey thorns at his side quickly enter his office.

 

“Hopps! Wilde! What is the meaning of . . . “ he trailed off when recognized that the two were in the process of clumsily putting on ballistic gear.

 

“Chief,” Nick breathed, strapping on a bulletproof vest, “Hopps and I need three or four officers, now. We think we’ve got our killer’s M.O. down.”

 

“And we’re sure we know who he is going to try for next,” Judy finished, strapping in her handgun. “At the rate our perp is moving, they’re going to want to strike as quickly as possible. We think waiting till tomorrow will result in another death. Or several depending if there’s anyone standing in our perp’s way.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Chief Bogo held his hoof up, trying to catch up to their train of thought. ‘Going to try for’?”

 

“Yup,” Hopps said back, confidence in her voice, and what could only be described as fire in her eyes. “Try to kill, not succeed in killing. No more bodies, Chief.” The rabbit and the fox sped out of the office, with Bogo hearing Hopps mutter ‘No more,’ as the pair rounded the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have only one (maybe two if i stretch the material out) chapters to go! 
> 
> I'm pumped. 
> 
> Love it when you lot leave your comments!!


	10. NO. X: THE WHEEL (PART 1: SHOWDOWN/THIS WILL HURT)

NAME: RAYMOND HELLER STRAUSS

AKA: THE GOOD SAMARITAN, THE OSPREY

SPECIES: OCELOT

SEX: MALE

NOTES: PROFESSIONAL CONTRACT KILLER. COMPLETELY REMORSELESS, EFFICIENT, AND CUNNING ASSASSIN THAT COMMANDS RESPECT AND FEAR THROUGH HIS IMPECCABLE TRACK RECORD AND EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH PURCHASE PRICE.

 

TAROT MAJOR ARCANA DESIGNATION: NO. X, THE WHEEL

For he will be the catalyst that starts the change.

 

~

 

The ocelot sat in the back of a car, a very, very expensive suburban model that housed very, very, very dangerous mammals, parked on a dirt road nearly enveloped into the shadows of the tree line. He stared at the gargantuan facility, nestled in relative solitude out in the far reaches of the Marshlands. A goliath, metallic beast of a complex with outstretching shoots, ladders, piping, lines, conveyer belts, dump sites, towering offices, gravel and soot depositories, silos, towers, refineries, mixers, and countless other rust and dirt-riddled appliances and constructions.

 

Booker-Wyatt Construction Company. Where Earl Booker III, a beaver and his last target, was currently holed up.

 

There were also fifty or so beavers walking around outside, even at this late hour, carrying on with their work as though time held no sway in their schedules. Which meant there were likely another two dozen inside, at least. The ocelot drummed his claws on the upholstery of the interior, forming a predictive narrative of how this night would play out.

 

There were a concerning amount of unknowns, of variables he couldn’t control nor necessarily account for.

 

Something moved in his peripheral. The mammal sitting next to him handed him a large, black object.

 

A Beretta M9A1 with an SGS profile compensator. The ocelot cautiously took it and ejected the magazine. Fifteen rounds of 9mm; likely 140 grain, definitely jacketed hollow point. He made to hand it back.

 

“I would prefer to not use guns.”

 

“I know,” the mammal replied matter of factly, pushing the firearm back into the ocelot’s paw. “But you will encounter more resistance than what you are accustomed to in there. A firearm, even if not used, will make it go smoother. Make your transaction with them go quicker.”

 

A firearm. A variable he had lesser control over then what he’d prefer. Left too much evidence. A variable the deeply disturbed the design of how he wanted to execute his operation. The ocelot focused back on the building. The entrance – what could be called the entrance by the entire ‘front’ of the building complex – was covered in mammals. Mammals that would by some sense quickly detect him should he opt to try the front door.

 

He could enter through the basement. That would have the least security and he could work his way up the building, towards the corporate tower of the campus.

 

There was something else.

 

“He knows.” The ocelot said to himself.

 

“Of course he does,” the mammal replied, a newspaper in her lap. “What with this terrible business of the press getting wind of it, now Mr. Booker knows why all of his former associated won’t call him back.”

 

“So he is waiting out the inevitable,” the ocelot breathed, feeling claustrophobic, feeling . . . something unpleasant coil around in his head and gut. He did not like the way the mammal sitting next to him read the paper. Reread the paper. Reread and reread the portion about the murders.

 

The ocelot did not like the intent focus of his employer.

 

_After this, perhaps I_ should _go pay Emilia Clarke a visit in her home. Nineteen mammals on average die from carbon monoxide poisoning every year in this city. What is one more to really alter the distribution?_

 

The ocelot looked up to the far side of the complex, to where a finger of the building extended into the Marshes, right up to the service-road they were currently parked on.

 

Raymond checked his watch. 10:17 PM. “Give me until 11. Pull the car up into that garage. I will arrive when it is done.”

 

The driver crept the vehicle towards the garage, the large metal garage door open and the bay devoid of mammals and vehicles. They came to a stop inside the dilapidated garage. An unhealthy yellow lighting bathed the car. Maintenance tools littered oiled and dirty shelves and carts.

 

The ocelot opened the door and was almost out when a clawed hand covered his, not too unlike the way a lover covers their partners’ paw in a moment of intimacy. Instinctively, the ocelot’s claws came out and his pupils, despite the night, thinned into slits.

 

The mammal leaned over to him, and pushed the handgun into his chest. “Take this. To make sure you arrive on time.” By the look in her eyes, it was no longer a suggestion.

 

Despite his strength, his prowess, his patience, his cunning, his repertoire, and his reputation, the ocelot, Raymond Strauss, against his better judgment, took the handgun, and tucked it into the waistband of his three-piece suit, before starting down a small flight of stairs into the facility.

 

Behind him, he heard the engine only idling. Of course, he did not hear the call the mammal made inside the vehicle.

 

~

 

In an unmarked squad car, Nick and Judy had managed to grab Officers Fangmeyer and Wolford, who sat in the back. It would just be the four of them to secure Earl Booker. Nick clutched the passenger’s seat as Judy executed what she claimed to be ‘aggressive driving.’

 

“So, uh, what are we looking for?” Wolford managed between trying to stay in his seat and prep for what could possibly be described as door-to-door combat, plated jackets and automatic subcompacts included.

 

“Small cat is all we have to go off of,” Nick replied.

 

“Oh, then this should be easy,” Fangmeyer replied, also trying to stay in her seat and double check her weapon’s functionality. “Sniffing out a cat in a place like Booker-Wyatt will be cake.” The tiger said it with certainty, not with any hint of sarcasm, something Nick would have expected from 1: Fangmeyer, and 2: the sheer size of the Booker-Wyatt construction company’s plant that was looming closer and closer.

 

“How do you figure?” Judy asked, eyes feverishly scanning the road for any possible openings in the flow of traffic, as if the blue and red lights weren’t an indicator enough for all other mammals to get the flying fuck out of the way.

 

All three predators in the car knew, all figured why it would be easy to detect any predator at the construction company’s headquarters.

 

“Earl Booker the Third is known for his particular disdain towards mammals with pointy bits,” Wolford filled Judy in.

 

“Oh. Well, this just keeps getting better and better,” Judy mumbled to herself.

 

~

 

The ocelot pried off a lock to a set of doors half buried in the ground. A sealed off portal to what was likely the bottom level of the complex. Inside, the labyrinth basement level of Booker-Wyatt. Having put small plastic coverings around his back paws, he left wide circular, almost elephant-like prints in the dust covering the floor. Inside, an entire organ tract of machinery; pumping, whirring, crushing, grinding, sawing, cutting, violent machinery.

 

Loud. So very loud.

 

Plenty of opportunities for an ill-timed and fatal worker’s accident.

 

The great metal machine of industry inhaled, it’s mechanical organs and electric systems whirring and buzzing to life in a cacophonous scream.

 

The ocelot kept to the shadows as he made him way through the expanse of hallways, closets, atriums, and rooms, following crude signs for stairs. Beavers, as a species, were very spatially oriented, so it made sense no one ever installed a directory to anywhere at the site.

 

So the ocelot went by his senses, trying to shuffle out the obnoxious slowing and speeding and grinding and whirring of colossal machinery surrounding him. Which eventually led him to a foreman, a beaver lacking a hardhat and wearing a loose button down shirt without a tie and with the top button undone. The beaver sat at a large desk, inventorying a variety of small machinery pieces, too absorbed in his task to see the stranger in the dark suit almost waltz up to him. Behind him, rows and rows of shelving, housing brown faded boxes full and overflowing with rusted machinery and metallic pieces.

 

The great metal machine of industry exhaled, it’s mechanical organs and electric systems spinning down, its structural bones shuddering under the weight of its effort.

 

Sheldon Jegas, the foreman in question, looked up when the strong scent of wildcat filled his nostrils. He looked directly into the unmistakable barrel of a gun level right at his head.

 

“You inhale to scream, and you will have a three inch hole through the back of your head,” the ocelot instructed. “You will answer me truthfully. I will know if you are lying. If you lie to me once, I will kill you. You do not get any second chances. There are none. Nod if you understand.”

 

The foreman took a moment to nod, eyes wide and chest heaving.

 

“Where is he?” The ocelot asked, ears swiveling, picking up the myriad of sounds from the active equipment and machinery sounding around him, trying to discern if anyone was approaching.

 

“Where . . . where is who?” the foreman managed. His face conveyed either genuine fear or genuine confusion. Likely an unhealthy mixture of both.

 

“Earl Booker the Third.”

 

The foreman exhaled, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The beaver swallowed, a pleasant action as pleasant as swallowing sawdust.

 

The great metal machine of industry inhaled, it’s mechanical organs and electric systems whirring and buzzing to life in a cacophonous scream.

 

The ocelot began questioning with a slow, deliberate, and punctual tone. “Do you have a family?” the ocelot asked.

 

“W-what?”

 

“Do. You. Have a family? A spouse? Children? Maybe even a mistress?” The foreman stayed silent for a moment, working his jaw.

 

“I want you to think of them,” the ocelot instructed. “I want you to think of their faces when they are asked to identify you. When they see the hole I have blown through your head.”

 

The foreman tried to swallow again, couldn’t, eyes wide, head slowly and subtly shaking.

 

“I want you to imagine their faces at the stark realization that dear old dad will not be coming home from his shift. That he is laying dead on an autopsy table, and that he will never get up.”

 

“Please,” the foreman asked, “please stop.” The compensator was pushed against his forehead, and the beaver went quiet.

 

“I want you to picture them as they lower your body into the ground. I want you to hear them crying.” The foreman began heaving, eyes clouding over. “Think of them realizing that from tonight forward, their lives will be permanently changed, that they will never fully recover from this. All of them. I want you to think of your wife and your children trying to live without you.”

 

The ocelot leaned in, the compensator of the handgun pushed harder against the beaver’s forehead, tilting his head slightly back. The foreman saw not a singular ounce of compassion nor any hint of lying within his topaz eyes.

 

“You have to think of all of them, before you even think of lying to me.”

 

The great metal machine of industry exhaled, it’s mechanical organs and electric systems spinning down, its structural bones shuddering under the weight of its effort.

 

The foreman closed his eyes, trying to keep back tears. “He’s on top level. Management.”

 

“How many mammals would you estimate between me and him?”

 

“Oh Jesus, guy, there’s at least four and a half dozen packers in here,” the foreman begged, seeing the rage grow in those awful calculating eyes. “Maybe fifty some packers outside and still arriving for the night shift.”

 

“ _Call. Him._ Get him down here.”

 

“Won’t come down, even if I call him.” The foreman mentioned to the cellphone on his desk. “Hasn’t come down at all for the past day or two. Won’t say why.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “Some of the others are saying he’s actin funny.”

 

“There is a reason for that,” the ocelot affirmed. “Are you telling me that I have to go find him? Are you making me go and get him?”

 

The foreman shook his head, unaware of the falling tears running and flying off his face. “C’mon chomper, I don’t know what to tell ya! He won’t come down here! Says it’s too dark. Didn’t even come down when the mixer malfunctioned and that’s a serious investment for the company! Any other day and he’d be the second down here assessing the damage!” The beaver motioned to the massive industrial-grade cement mixer loudly whirring away several feet from them.

 

The ocelot looked with the beaver, and something else caught his attention. It wasn’t the mixer. A small, red box placed on the wall, with a small, red lever and white lettering. The beaver followed his gaze, before turning back to the cat, eyes widening, mouth opening but no words coming out.

 

They stared at each other.

 

“What are you gonna do?” the beaver whispered, voice cracking in fear.

 

The ocelot said nothing. He did not even blink.

 

The great metal machine of industry inhaled, it’s mechanical organs and electric systems whirring and buzzing to life in a cacophonous scream.

 

~

 

The four officers of the ZPD were within a few dozen meters of pulling up to the front of the facility when they all heard the noise. A deep and foreboding scream of an alarm, punctuated by red lights that bathed the entire campus in red. An air raid siren that was impossible to ignore, coupled with red lighting all over, followed by a brief respite of silence and no red lighting.

 

Mammals began pouring out from doors around the facility. The officers pulled up and exited the cruiser, bracing themselves against the scream of the sirens.

 

“What in the actual _hell_ is that?” Wolford asked anyone who might have an answer.

 

“Our perp’s distraction,” Nick yelled back, before barking, “Fangmeyer, Wolford, take the right side. Hopps and I will take the left. Sweep to the top then down and back. We’re looking for Earl Booker. He’s the one our target is going for. Call it in when you find either.”

 

Later, Both Fangmeyer and Wolford would recount of Wilde’s natural initiative in a high stress environment to the chief, amongst other details. In the present, the followed his direction without question.

 

“Son of a bitch triggered the fire alarm,” Judy muttered to herself as she ran next to Nick, firearms drawn, to the massive construction plant. Running up the massive complex felt like charging into a castle headlong past flying arrows, only to duel with the enemy’s champion.

 

“That’s how he’s planning to flush out Booker.”

 

~

 

Raymond Strauss walked through corridors and hallways, following his nose. He made sure to stop and wait out the strings and pods of workers that made their way from the expanse of a building. He noted the way none of them made an effort to leave with haste. Another drill, they were likely thinking. What’s the rush?

 

Raymond reached the one end of a long hallway. At the other end, he saw him.

 

A beaver, wearing an expansive suit and smelling like cheap cologne, was directing his workers out of the building, a radio to his ear.

 

Under the ON/OFF screaming of the sirens, amplified to a near deafening degree in the metal building’s innards, Raymond quickened his pace, the fall of his paw pads entirely disguised by the sirens.

 

“Sheldon!” Earl Booker screamed into the radio, over and over, interrupted by the wailing of the fire alarm system. “Report! Sheldon, what the fuck is going on??!! Control said the alarm was triggered in basement level D. That’s you, you goddamn idiot! I said Report!”

 

Raymond was just past halfway down the hall when, by pure chance alone, Earl Booker caught something in the corner of his eye and saw his attacker advancing towards him. Bathed in dark red lighting one moment, then illuminated under the fluorescents in an unhealthy egg white color the next.

 

Earl Booker immediately knew what was barreling towards him, the radio falling from his hand as he turned and sprinted for his life.

 

Raymond broke out into a four legged sprint, neatly doubling his speed. Earl was going to disappear around a sharp 90 degree turn in about three seconds. Raymond threw himself at him, knowing full well he’d missed tackling his target by inches.

 

But not enough to catch a piece of him.

 

Raymond slid past the spot Earl had previously occupied a mere fraction of a second beforehand, and with all claws out, slashed directly across Earl Booker’s calves, the momentum of Raymond’s speed throwing him into the wall perpendicular to his target.

 

His talons raked across the beaver’s calve muscles, slicing the left leg’s Achilles’ tendon and shredding the other calf muscle group to ribbons.

 

The ocelot’s hind legs, anticipating the sudden deceleration and subsequent stop, cushioned him against the metal wall. At the same time, Earl Booker flew onto the floor, trying to get up, only to fall immediately back down.

 

“Oh! Oh God! Oh!” was all Earl could manage as his torn Achilles’ tendon retracted back up into his left calf muscle. A small pool of blood began forming around his legs, smearing in the direction the beaver tried to drag himself away from his pursuer.

 

Raymond was quick to right himself back upwards, and began a calm walk to his last victim, only a few feet away. He inspected his claws. The one paw’s talons had been filed to an even sharper edge due being used as the primary means of first level deceleration against the metal floor.

 

The killer cracked all of his fingers, inspecting his claws as he walked towards the hysterical Booker.

 

“Let us get this over with, shall we, Mr. Booker?” he said. Their world was bathed in the red light of the alarms for three seconds. Then the normal lighting, and Raymond Strauss saw them at the end of the hallway he and his quarry currently occupied.

 

A red and grey blur. Two small mammals. Emerald and violet eyes that locked onto his own topaz eyes. Two gun barrels leveled directly at him.

 

The police officers from the restaurant.

 

Officers Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde.

 

“ZPD! Paws up!” they both screamed at him from down the hall. Raymond’s mind instantly recalculated the appropriate course of action. His lips peeled back and Strauss issued a guttural yell, a hiss that morphed into a roar, before he spun around and fled back the way he came.

 

The fox and the rabbit broke into a sprint down the hall, the world blurring by both of them. They came to a stop next to the screaming Booker, the adrenaline wearing off and the intense agony setting in.

 

“Booker!” Nick screamed at the beaver, immediately scanning him for the damage. “Where are you hit? Did he shoot you? Did he get your throat?”

 

“JESUS GOD OHH Je - sus FUCK that HURTS!!!” Booker screamed back, cradling his bleeding legs.

 

“Just got his legs, didn’t knick any major arteries amazingly, not enough blood,” Nick screamed over Booker and the alarm. Judy radioed it in to ZPD Precinct 1, then belayed the info to Wolford and Fangmeyer.

 

“Hopps, we’re coming to you and Booker. We’ll follow the scent of blood. Leave Booker and get after him!”

 

A group of beavers appeared where Nick and Judy first saw their query, stopping at the junction of the hallway, staring at the officers and their screaming boss. They all looked at each other, unsure of what course of action to take.

 

Judy instantly knew the course of action that they would all be taking. It would have to do.

 

“You all!” Judy screamed at them, instantly grabbing their attention. “Get over here and get him out! Ambulance is on its way!” The workers started rushing over without question, looks of panic spreading across their faces.

 

And Nick and Judy rushed off after their killer.

 

As the world warped by them as they sprinted down hallways, Nick’s sense of smell directed them.

 

“Left! Left! I think he’s doubling back!”

 

They passed two small plastic boots, discarded by their perp along his path and paid them no heed. Their world became bisensory: the adrenaline propelling them through the scenery of the facility paired with the siren screaming of the fire alarm system. The silence interludes between alarms was deafening in its own silence.

 

They came upon a fork in pathways, coming to staggering halt. “Woah woah woah,” Nick held his arm out in front of her, looking at both paths. “Trail goes both ways. Likely came one way and exited the other.”

 

Judy started sprinting. “I’ve got left. You take right.” He wordlessly agreed, and the pair split up.

 

~

 

Raymond bolted through the halls. By now, all of the staff from Booker & Wyatt had made their way out. No one saw him.

 

But that was the least of his problems. The assassination of Earl Booker just became that much more unrealistically difficult to achieve. And the police found out of Booker. Found out about _him_. Which meant they knew.

 

They. Knew.

 

Raymond was now calculating the best way to tell his employer the increasingly terrible situation in a format that would not end up with the ocelot in many pieces scattered across the Marshes when he came the garage where he started.

 

His mind, heart, and breathing stopped. It was silent. When there should’ve been the sound of an idling engine.

 

The car was gone. The garage door was shut.

 

He brought his watch to his face, having to wait a painful, conscious second for his eyes to focus on the time.

 

10:38 PM.

 

_Give me until 11._

 

His eyes widened. Raymond brought the gun out from his waistband, examining it as if it were an unfamiliar novelty he had found planted on his person. He thought of the newspaper. The way she kept rereading it, face pinched in dissatisfaction. His employers’ insistence on him taking the gun . . .

 

It all came together. It all clicked. Raymond Strauss realized his crucial mistake far too late. And the wicked, angry, and violent thing in his head sprung through his body.

 

“ _Mother . . . Fucker_.” He barely managed in a hiss through clenched teeth.

 

Raymond Strauss did not even have to calculate what he was going to do next. It all came naturally, instantly, fueled by a burning, roaring rage in his head. He depressed the slide release lever on the side of the pistol’s frame, allowing the slide, barrel, and compensator to come forward and off the gun. He threw those pieces away into the space of the garage, uncaring of where they went. The frame and magazine were tossed in different directions as well.

 

He stared back at the wall, at the three sets of doors. He could already hear the rapid pitter patter of small feet quickly falling in the brief respites from the alarm system.

 

The rabbit had found him first. He could now clearly hear her tiny and quick steps, their volume growing quickly. She’d arrive within seconds. Raymond aligned himself on the other side of the doorframe she’d appear through, and waited.

 

Judy Hopps, following the seemingly scant scent trail, did not catch the heartbeat on the other side of the door until she passed through it and looked to her right. Right as a clawed paw snapped out and cracked against her arms, knocking her firearm across the garage. The other deftly ripped the tranquilizer off her utility belt.

 

Judy spun and tumbled, easily putting several feet of distance between her and him. She quickly bounced up and assumed a fighting posture.

 

Judy Hopps stared down her opponent, the hitman Raymond Strauss. He made no move to her, holding his ground, appraising her. In his paws, without hesitation of looking, the cat dismantled the tranquilizer gun into pieces within seconds. He scattered the parts along the floor, throwing the dart far away into the recess of the garage’s space.

 

“Did you know,” the ocelot started, voice calm, never once breaking eye contact with her through his disassembly, “that it only takes two and a half pounds of pressure per square inch to break a rabbit’s neck? This will be easy.”

 

Judy, despite her body wanting to recoil and run from the threat, held her ground. “Other officers will soon be on scene,” she breathed out with something like a wicked grin than vanished after she said it. “We called it in. It’s over. No more bodies.”

 

She waited to see his face drop, to see the familiar realization dawn across those unfeeling eyes, to feel the satisfaction of her perp realizing that he was beat.

 

No such look crossed any part of his face. The ocelot coolly regarded her for a moment more and nodded once, before saying, “Correct, yet also wrong.”

 

The words stunned her, along with his calm delivery of them. Without an ounce of warning, Raymond pounced towards her.

 

Her training kicked on without conscious effort nor thought. She rolled to the side, right as the ocelot pounced and landed where she previously was, and propelled herself back away from him.

 

Within a second, they had essentially switched positions. Judy towards the doorways, Raymond towards the metal garage door and shelving. She kept her legs parted a little more now, ready to flank left or right. He was quick. _Really_ quick. And she had never seen or encountered a mammal like him.

 

They both heard the other mammal’s footfalls approaching, soon to make his arrival.

 

Judy made the singular mistake of turning her eyes to the side, an automatic reflex to see her partner. Raymond took it, and had closed the distance between them in the span it took Judy to turn her attention fully back to the ocelot.

 

Nick Wilde entered into the garage weapon first to see his partner tackled by the ocelot.

 

When it came to fighting spirit, Judy could take almost any mammal for the rounds. Her training and arrest record of violent offenders showed as much.

 

Unfortunately, this meant next to nothing to a mammal that had made his life’s work perfecting the art of killing.

 

Within a fraction of a second, Raymond spun Judy around, grabbing her one arm and twisted it behind her back, so that both rabbit and ocelot faced the fox.

 

With his other paw, claws out, Raymond formed his thumb and pointed fingers in the position one would delicately pick up something fragile, perhaps a pinch of salt. Or a rabbit.

 

Nick stopped, fully and completely stopped, body and mind crashing into the immovable object that was their awful reality at seeing Raymond’s two claws, pointer and thumb, puncture into Judy’s throat.

 

Her eyes went impossibly wide. Raymond positioned most of his lithe body behind her, holding Judy like a shield before Nick.

 

It was so horribly quiet, so horribly still, for one moment. And then Judy Hopps began screaming for her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 drops in roughly 24 hours.


	11. NO. X: THE WHEEL (PART 2: DESTROYING ANGEL/CONCLUSION)

NAME: RAYMOND HELLER STRAUSS

AKA: THE GOOD SAMARITAN, THE OSPREY

SPECIES: OCELOT

SEX: MALE

NOTES: PROFESSIONAL CONTRACT KILLER. COMPLETELY REMORSELESS, EFFICIENT, AND CUNNING ASSASSIN THAT COMMANDS RESPECT AND FEAR THROUGH HIS IMPECCABLE TRACK RECORD AND EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH PURCHASE PRICE.

 

TAROT MAJOR ARCANA DESIGNATION: NO. X, THE WHEEL

For he will be the catalyst that starts the change.

 

~

 

The adrenaline completely and totally left him. The will to hunt and pursue? Gone. His heart rate skyrocketing to a near excruciating speed, colliding against his ribs and lungs. Nick Wilde couldn’t breathe.

 

His partner, held up as an impromptu shield, screamed enough to last them both several lifetimes.

 

Agony. Sheer agony mixed with absolute fight or flight panic. There was no consciousness in her eyes or in her screams. They tore him down, each inhale and exhale, stabbed and tore and ripped away at his mind and heart.

 

Raymond’s face wrinkled in anger, and he pinched down on her throat a few centimeters more.

 

Judy’s screaming instantly ceased, and was replaced by a throaty, uncomfortable coughing. The ocelot was choking her by internally pinching her windpipe shut.

 

That snapped Wilde into gear, raising his gun to the space an inch to the left of Judy’s head, right at the ocelot’s.

 

“Put her down! Right FUCKING now!” Nick screamed, teeth barred, hackles up, ears flat to his skull, pupils razor thin slits in his eyes. Raymond did not comply with Nick’s request, still holding a choking Judy in front of him.

 

“ _I will kill you_ ,” Nick hissed through clenched teeth, mind beginning to dip into a terrifying grey-scale of subconscious.

 

Raymond recalculated. Noted the now absent formal police procedural training that had abruptly left the fox. Noted the death threat he clearly wanted – no, clearly _would_ carry through if the opportunity presented itself. There wasn’t even an ‘if’ statement tacked on to the end of the threat.

 

It was all or nothing. Do or die. The ocelot would have to tread very carefully.

 

Raymond tilted his head behind Judy, and Nick’s sharp eyesight caught him releasing his hold on her throat by just a few centimeters.

 

Judy deeply inhaled, eyes locked forward, seeing Nick but not really seeing anything, and began choking and coughing; the violent, spasmodic noise someone makes when they briefly surface while drowning.

 

“Ahhh ah-ah-ah-ah,” Raymond chided in such a confident and collected tone that set Nick’s blood on fire. “You look like a good shot, fox. I can see it in your posture, the way you hold your firearm. How steady and level you keep your gun, how the barrel is aligned with my eye and how it does not waver. You must have scored well on the firearm’s battery at the academy. I wonder if that was trained in or inherent? Perhaps you have had such skills before your transition to the force, Mr. Wilde.”

 

Raymond let the comments sink in, something to ground the fox, something to buy time if the rabbit was to be believed. “In another circumstance, I would love to see what you could do. What you are capable of. Because from the way this is looking, it would seem to me that you are capable of much more then you let on. And I love mammals that have hidden talents, ones that have not forgotten how to fight, how to kill.

 

“But, I must withhold my desire to test your mettle. Even if you do manage the shot at me, my body will flinch from the pain and the impact. A flinch with my claws buried in her throat? That will not result in a razor’s knick. It will cut clean through some very crucial hardwiring.”

 

Wilde said nothing, kept his gun trained on the fraction of the predatory cat’s head that weaved dangerously and intimately close with Judy’s.

 

“And at the rate her tiny heart is hammering away in her tiny chest,” Raymond continued, “She will bleed out in seconds, not minutes. I assure you she will die if I as so much incur a scratch.”

 

They both knew it to be the truth.

 

Still, Nick held the gun leveled at Judy’s captor. Still, his finger kept the pressure on the trigger, almost past the point of no return. A half-pound of pressure more would send one round through the right side of Raymond Strauss’ skull.

 

Both males heard two sets of rapidly approaching footsteps. Fangmeyer and Wolford entered the garage, guns drawn on the ocelot, each taking an increasingly wide distance from Nick. Fangmeyer’s eyes pinched in anger; Wolford immediately began growling, showing his teeth.

 

The ocelot managed to shrink more behind Judy. “Stay right where you are!” he yelled at both, lifting Judy off the ground at them. Judy started choking again, her screaming nearly strangled away into pathetic squeaks and choked coughs. Her legs began kicking, with Raymond visibly making the effort to hold her still. Tears began running down her face.

 

All three officers stopped moving.

 

“Here is how this will transpire,” Raymond instructed them. “I will put her down, still breathing and not dying, and I will be taken into police custody if and only if Officer Wilde puts his firearm down on the floor.”

 

No one moved. Raymond pinched down further on Judy’s throat. All noise ceased emitting from her mouth. Judy’s movements began slowing down, eyelids fluttering, the whites of her eyes turning red as the capillaries in them burst by the thousands from oxygen deprivation.

 

There was a sharp clattering of metal on concrete. Fangmeyer and Wolford each glanced to see Wilde’s paws up in the air, his gun on the floor.

 

“Okay! Okay,” he pleaded, the will to fight entirely gone, the fox trying not to shake, trying to maintain his posture and conscious as his mind began to fracture and fly apart into oblivion. “Okay I did it. I put my gun down. Please, put her down.”

 

Raymond looked at the gun still at Nick’s feet. Nick instantly kicked it away and across the garage. The ocelot nodded.

 

“Smart move,” he said, leaning into Judy’s ear. “Hold still,” he hissed, his claws retracting out of Judy’s throat. He dropped the rabbit to the ground, where she collapsed upon herself like a ragdoll.

 

In the next few seconds, several acts quickly transpired.

 

Raymond Strauss got to his knees and put his paws up and over his head. Small, crimson beads of rabbit blood ran down two still extended claws.

 

Wolford and Fangmeyer approached Raymond, swapping out their firearms with their tasers.

 

Nick went straight to Judy, keeping the ocelot in his vision. Judy was still breathing, still conscious, bleeding but not heavily. True to his word, he had not cut any major arterioles in his release of her. Nick applied pressure over the two puncture wounds and looked Judy in her eyes, cradling her body.

 

Judy stared back at him, too exhausted and wounded to say anything. Judy felt her body wash over in a state of relief. She was safe. She wasn’t going to die. Nick felt her deflate in his arms.

 

Nick then heard the brief whirring of the tasers charging up.

 

“What are those for?” Raymond had the gull to ask the wolf and tiger officers. “I said I would go into police custody without incident if my conditions were met. Which they were.”

 

“Without ‘incident’ . . . ” Fangmeyer repeated, infuriated at what the ocelot did and did not consider to be an ‘incident’.

 

“This is gonna hurt,” Wolford taunted more than warned. Both officers fired their stun guns at the ocelot, who went rigid and collapsed on his side.

 

Then the officer’s pulled out their tranquilizers and fired two darts into the ocelot’s thighs. It was clear by the fading rage in the ocelot’s eyes he was screaming to ask ‘why didn’t you just use those??!!’

 

The answer was more than obvious.

 

You mess with one, you mess with all.

 

~

 

Judy woke up to the sensation of having swallowed an orange-hot coal, eyes pinching in the harsh white light. The strong and unpleasant scent of disinfectant filled her nose, along with something else. Something familiar and very pleasant and soothing . . .

 

She fully opened her eyes and observed her surroundings. Hospital room, single unit. Curtains drawn. Obnoxious fluorescent lighting. To her left, a shelf of doctor’s basics. Every bandage under the sun and other miscellaneous tools.

 

To her right, a blue and orange blur, that focused to become her fox, Nick Wilde, still dressed in his uniform.

 

His large green eyes widened a little further at seeing her wake up, and the fox released a breath he had no idea he was holding. Both of his paws were anxiously rubbing her own paw that was nearest to him.

 

“Hey Judy,” he breathed, a ghost of a smile breaking across the immense and heavy mask of worry resting on his face.

 

She tried to sit up, but realized she had zero energy to do so. She was absolutely exhausted. It took enough conscious willpower to move her head to face him head on.

 

Her eyes, the astounding amethyst of her irises nestled in the bloodshot whites of her eyes and her smile; calm and happy and beautiful and oh-so-Judy, fully captured his entire attention.

 

“Hey Nick,” she breathed out, sounding (and definitely feeling) like she had the sore throat from hell, her voice harsh and raspy.

 

“How’re you hanging in there?” he cautiously asked.

 

“Like my throat’s being slow roasted over an open flame,” she managed, including a small smile to lessen the blow that so clearly hit him. “But otherwise, just tired. Really tired.”

 

Nick, still looking worried, gave a short laugh and a smile, saying, “Like the first time you take a hit off a blunt, right? That kind of burning?”

 

“Slick, you know I’ve never even tried a cigarette, right? Let alone weed,” She deadpanned, made all the more effective by the rasp of her voice.

 

“Of course you haven’t,” he exhaled and smiled at her.

 

She looked at him, her expression falling. “Did we get him?”

 

The pure bliss and relief Judy felt was second only to seeing her fox when she woke up: Nick smiled at her and nodded.

 

“Oh yeah. We got him. He’s currently holed up at the precinct, sporting an exceptionally fashionable straight jacket and muzzle a grizzly bear couldn’t shake off.”

 

Judy leaned back and shut her eyes, smiling wide.

 

_No more._

 

She looked back to Nick, who was slowly leaning into her face, his muzzle pointed at her head, eyes still wide and nose twitching with concern. Somehow, truly somehow, Judy knew what he wanted to do.

 

“Go ahead,” she muttered, grinning. “Just be gentle. Really sore.”

 

Nick immediately put his nose into the crook of her neck and began attentively sniffing at her wounds, covered by little red and white cotton balls and surgical tape. He so desperately wanted to peel them away, to really see and assess the damage. But knew that wouldn’t be in her recovery’s best interests, and refrained.

 

By his logic, if she was hurt, he was hurt. And he needed to fully understand, or understand to the best of his abilities, the wounds and discomfort his partner, his rabbit, his Judy, was experiencing.

 

All the while Nick studied her for damage, the instinctual drive to protect and value the mammal closest to him, Judy shut her eyes, smiling weakly, and with one paw began petting and stroking the fur on his muzzle, up and around the side of his face. Nick was so distracted in his examination that he didn’t even notice.

 

He did notice the intrusion. Nick actually emitted a small growl, but one not lacking in any ferocity, at the two mammals he heard, then smelled, entering her room.

 

Both he and Judy turned to see Wolford and Fangmeyer, still in uniform. Wolford had a dumb smile on his face, his tail wagging happily. Fangmeyer’s tail was slowly curling and uncurling, a smirk on her own mug.

 

“How’s our wondergirl doing,” she asked with only an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.

 

Judy, feeling more and more tired by the moment, gave the audience a thumb’s up.

 

“Alright Wilde,” Wolford chirped, “The Chief and Captain Ashmore want you back at the Precinct, ASAP.”

 

Nick’s response was immediate and completely serious. “Nope, can’t leave Judy unattended.”

 

The tiger and the wolf looked at each other, then back to him. “Strange, Bogo said you’d say that,” Fangmeyer said in an impressed tone, “Which is why Wolford and I aren’t going to leave Judy’s side while you’re away.”

 

“Away? Away doing what?”

 

“Captain thinks it’s a good idea that you interrogate the ocelot,” Wolford said, his tone serious.

 

Nick looked to his partner, who was slowly falling asleep. She did manage, “Go get em, Slick,” before she fell into the abyss of sleep. The sound of her almost impossibly small breathing filled the room. Nick knew it was irrational to be worried about her, she was in a hospital with armed guards for Christ’s sake.

 

But how small her breathing was . . . it made her sound that much more fragile, made her sound less like the strong officer he knew her as. Reminded him that at the end of the day, she was still just a rabbit. One that had nearly had her throat sliced clean open not even two hours ago.

 

“Why do they want me to do it,” Nick asked, his tone turning somber. Although he already had an inkling of the answer to his own question.

 

“Wouldn’t say,” Fangmeyer dismissively responded, pulling out her phone and taking the seat opposite of Nick and across from Judy.

 

“You won’t leave her, right?” he asked, looking at the sleeping bunny.

 

“She will constantly be with at least one of us until she recovers,” Wolford answered.

 

Nick nodded, and started for the curtains. “Thank you both,” he said in a quiet tone. Both officers just smiled and nodded back.

 

~

 

Nick, Captain Ashmore, and Chief Bogo stood on the other side of the interrogation room, hidden behind a reinforced sheet of one-way glass. Tucked under Nick’s left arm was the complete case built against the ocelot. All of their evidence that he had practically committed to memory.

 

“His paw prints aren’t getting any hits in the databases,” Ashmore mumbled as the three police officers stared at the restrained mammal sitting quietly in the interrogation room. “No ID on him. Won’t tell us his name, can’t find out his address. All of his clothes were custom tailored, no manufacturer tags. The gun parts you found at Booker-Wyatt are being dusted for prints, but the serial number has been acid washed clean off.”

 

“A walking enigma,” The Chief grumbled, turning to Nick. “Officer Wilde, what can you tell us about him?”

 

Nick didn’t look back at his Chief when he replied. “You assume because I’m a former conman that I know him.”

 

“Not assume, Wilde. I know you knew every mammal of interest in this city. And I _know_ you know of him in some capacity.”

 

“I do,” Nick confirmed casually, “but, well, very loose stuff, you know? I may have heard something from an old source once –“

 

Ashmore snapped, spinning to face Nick. “Oh, will you stop beating around the bush, officer? Bogo, nor I, do not care much about how you’ve heard of him. Tell us what you _know._ ”

 

Nick swallowed, and did. “Raymond Strauss. Professional contract killer. Not your local gang banger or lone triggerman. International-tier caliber of talent. The type cartels and global businesses send after each other. The best cost the most, you know. Heard Mr. Big talking about considering hiring him way back before I became an officer, when I was swapping out rugs in one of his houses. Was thinking of exterminating one of the other Old Families from the city. Wound up not doing it though, heard they reached a tentative peace.”

 

“And you think this is the ocelot?” Bogo asked.

 

“Fully fits the description Big’s second described him as,” Nick replied. “Ocelot. Male. In his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Noted for being a smart and efficient killer, which this cat certainly is. Doesn’t carry guns on him. Big got all bent out of shape on that detail. Asked why, second-in-command said that this ocelot preferred not to carry on him, in the instance that he would be stopped and frisked by any LEO’s. That, and he was supposedly so good he could completey almost any hit without using firearms.”

 

“And yet, you caught him with a gun,” Bogo remarked, mouth working and eyes narrowing at the ocelot.

 

“Yeah. Thankfully his pride got in the way of him using it.” And with that, Wilde walked from the recording room into the interrogation room, shutting the door behind him.

 

The interrogation room was purposefully plain. Beige colored walls. A singular, fluorescent light fixed high into the ceiling. A large conference table, reinforced and bolted to the concrete floor.

 

On one side of the table sat a fox. On the other, an ocelot wrapped securely in a Kevlar straight jacket and wearing a tight fitting muzzle.

 

Nick placed the bulging manila binder on the table between them and began arranging the pictures and documents into a loose narrative.

 

Nick laid out the five pictures of the ocelot’s victims, all taken down in the morgue.

 

“Marcy Kelt, Simon DuLarge, Matthew Feldman, Ernest Walton, and Shelley Yont,” Nick said.

 

The ocelot said nothing in return.

 

“Forensics is going to match the claw profiles we took of you to the gashes in both Shelley Yont and Marcy Kelt,” Nick continued. “There was also ocelot hair in the hotel room where we found Feldman. I’m willing to bet that also belongs to you. And that charming little mug shot we took of you? Yeah, the coffee house owner recognized you. Said you were there the morning Simon DuLarge was found in a coffee cup. And well, we know all about your act of terror at the restaurant.”

 

The ocelot said nothing.

 

Nick leaned back in his chair. “The press is running with one hell of a story. Saying you’re a serial killer with a speciest chip in your shoulder.” Nick paused, seeming to consider something, before continuing.

 

“But that’s not really why you killed them, is it, Strauss?”

 

The ocelot said nothing, but Nick caught the narrowing of his pupils, the singular twitch of the corner of his mouth behind the muzzle.

 

“To start at the beginning of this horrible little story, we need to go back a bit,” Nick said. He laid out several large documents, all of which looked like giant excel spreadsheets.

 

“Know what these are?” Nick asked the ocelot, predicting correctly that the cat wouldn’t even open his mouth. “They’re bank records. Statements from everyone from that list of mammals you murdered.

 

“In and of themselves, they do not tell that interesting a story. In fact, it’s one a lot of mammals know really well; the woes of money troubles. But, something comes up when you start looking at everyone’s together, except Shelley Yont’s; that was, in fact, a one and done use. But with everyone else, we start going back about a year.

 

“About 13 months ago, all five mammals began depositing several large monetary amounts. Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety dollar amounts. Of course, they’re smart mammals that know all banks must report all deposits over ten thousand dollars to the IRS, so they just quickly began depositing under the threshold. Kelt, DuLarge, Feldman, and Walton do this for quite a while. Following these deposits only, each banked about two hundred and fifty grand.”

 

The ocelot said nothing, eyes locked on Wilde’s. So the fox continued. Behind the one way glass, Bogo and Ashmore listened with heightened interest.

 

“So this goes on for a few months, each mammal carrying out these deposits, the banks having no legal power to say or do anything but knowing something is clearly up, when all of a sudden, there starts a massive withdrawal race of these big spender funds from each mammal. Same thing, but in reverse. Money going out. Withdrawals of about fifteen thousand each, every week, from each mammal.

 

“So, what it comes down to is that each mammal’s two hundred fifty grand is withdrawn, and is all sent to a certain construction company, Booker-Wyatt. Only, none of it is made out to their payroll department. It goes right to the private account belonging to Earl Booker the Third.”

 

The ocelot spoke for the first time in their meeting. “How is he doing?” Nick ignored him and continued.

 

“Inconsequential. The real question we should be asking ourselves is what a construction company was doing with pseudo-laundered funds?” Nick reached out from underneath the table, and pulled out a rectangular evidence box. Collected not even an hour ago while he was with Judy at the Hospital.

 

~

 

**Approximately an hour and a half earlier . . .**

 

Officer Francine Trunkaby crouched in the hospital room, over a doped up Earl Booker the Third. The morphine the hospital staff had administered certainly took the edge off of having your calf muscles shredded.

 

“I swearrrrr to god I can’t fuckin believe he got meeee,” the beaver muttered over and over.

 

“Yes, he sure did,” Officer Trunkaby confirmed, keeping herself neutral, “Now, Mr. Booker, I can tell you’re a busy beaver with a busy schedule, so let’s just cut to the chase.” Having been on the Force for well over two decades, Francine was thanking circumstance that his lawyer had not yet arrived.

 

“What’rrrrrre you talkin about?” the beaver managed, trying to keep his eyes from rolling around too freely in his skull.

 

“You’re going to be under investigation as to why someone tried to kill you.”

 

The beaver’s eyes widened. “Oh nooo is that . . . is that baddd?”

 

“Very, even worse once the media finds out about it.” Trunkaby said the next part with as much conviction as she could, despite having no clue if the threat would work or could even hold an ounce of truth. “Imagine your stock prices plummeting once the media has their way slandering you seven ways to Sunday about this.”

 

The beaver’s reaction was not what she was expecting.

 

“No good, goddamn savages! Shoulda gone ahead and done it myself! Fuck the expenses, and fuck those bleeding heart liberals that outlawed it in the first place! They deserved to be collared. Fuckin killers the lot of them.”

 

Past the mild shock, Trunkaby managed, “Mr. Booker? What do you mean by ‘collared’?”

 

“I ain’t sayin shit till my lawyer gets here!” he yelled back, voice wavering from the effects of the opioids and suddenly having a damning moment of mental clarity. But in the next moment, said clarity vanished from the rollercoaster high of the morphine. “Although, now that I think about it, I think that uh, I think that the heating may have gone at the plant. Asked McGinty across the street at his sardine packin place to keep eyes on the lights and see if any on the outside of the warehouse are flickerin. Don’t want the building gettin too cold, do we? Pipes’ll freeze.”

 

The beaver wasn’t even aware of the elephant ducking out of his room to call it in.

 

Across the city, Officers McHorn and Harmon began sweeping the distribution quarter of Tundra Town, the only district to house fish markets and distribution warehouses.

 

“There, right over there,” Harmon pointed. On one side of the street, one of two sardine packing plants in the district. Across the street, a massive warehouse or plant site. From the lack of windows and the massive double garage doors, it was impossible to tell its function. There was a small sign next to the entrance that read BOOKER-WYATT CONSTRUCTION.

 

The two officers exited their vehicle and approached the door. Which was of course, locked.

 

Harmon, a lion, began scratching his mane. “So McHorn, how do you wanna do this? Wait for the warrant or –“

 

His answer came when the rhinoceros more or less just walked through the door, its metal and wood construction no match for the tank of a mammal. Inside, debris falling from his shoulders and off his horn, McHorn looked back at Harmon.

 

“ – Or you know what? Yeah, I also heard that suspicious sound coming from inside the warehouse,” Harmon smiled, following the rhino inside. McHorn snorted once in approval. Or apathy. Something, definitely something. Harmon was still trying to decipher the senior officer’s monotonous grunts that passed as his way of communicating.

 

Inside, as they would both detail later in their reports, they would find what was an automated assembly and distribution plant. Massive assembly machines, mechanical arms, engines, assembly wheels, runway belts, and materials, all sitting still and quiet in their dormancy. The building smelled like hot metal and oil, despite the temperature. Further investigation revealed that a trial run had been conducted at one time, several products being completed and placed on holding racks.

 

Harmon was the officer to pick one up, his mouth hanging open in disbelief and his mind swimming in disgust. He absolutely knew what it was. Any predator in the world knew what it was. And for the first time, Harmon heard McHorn say anything other than a grunt or snort. It all came out in a dangerous and threateningly angry baritone.

 

“Wilde’s gonna want to see that.”

 

~

 

**Back in the present, in the interrogation room.**

 

Nick opened the evidence box and threw the TAME collar onto the table, right in front of the ocelot. Nick watched both with absolute disdain.

 

“You see that? _That_ is what Earl Booker was being paid to manufacture. The funds were going into building a facility to manufacture TAME collars for the predator population of this city. That’s what all the money was for. A facility to manufacture these horrid devices. _Again_.”

 

Nick inhaled, collected himself and the maelstrom of thoughts in his head. “You know, just when I think society might be on the mend, when I think it’s starting to get better, I am always reminded that it isn’t. That shit like this – and shit like you – still exist, trying to make profit margins off of the suffering of innocent mammals.”

 

Nick caught the edge in his voice, the increase in volume, and backed it down for a moment. The ocelot didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the news. Nick carried on.

 

“Now, of course, that all seems widely inopportune. After all, TAME collars, their use, and production were outlawed in the city and far beyond it only a few decades ago. But, when production of this particular facility started,” Nick slid a picture of the manufacturing warehouse to Raymond, “our city was going through some interesting times. But isn’t it always?

 

“Here’s what was going to happen, hinging solely on the success of someone’s little savage predator plot. The city is nearly gutted in fear, so extreme measures are on the table. Our then mayor proposes an old solution to the clamoring majority. Most of the population doesn’t have fangs and claws, and agrees to the instant installation of the emergency measures, fearing for their safety and lives. And so, under some guise of ‘societal protection,’ the TAME collars are re-implemented in a state of emergency.

 

“I tell you, wasn’t that easy finding out how they all knew each other. Because it would require a hell of a lot of trust to set something like this up. But, it still was nothing good old detective work can’t figure out.” Inwardly, Nick thanked the Major Crimes unit for agreeing to let he and Judy sift through the mountain of evidence collected from Dawn Bellwether’s belongings. And that major crimes had enough foresight to keep everything concerning a certain ewe after her arrest.

 

Nick next summoned a yearbook from the near overflowing evidence binder. A slim and old senior yearbook from St. Mateus Preparatory, 1978. He went to a bookmarked page, under CLUBS, and showed the ocelot.

 

** SOCIETAL AND POLITICAL POLICIES CLUB **

 

PRESIDENT – DAWN BELLWETHER

VICE PRESIDENT – ERNEST WALTON

TREASURER – EARL BOOKER III

SECRETARY – MARCY KELT

MATTHEW FELDMAN

SIMON DULARGE

DANIELLE O’HEARST

 

“My mother always warned me that politicians are born then bred, that they are Just products of society’s sick and demented id, that they’re just criminals the public happens to agree with,” Nick breathed through his teeth, leaning into the ocelot. “Amazing how deep-seated such evil can run.

 

“And so, all was going according to plan. The mammals here all had their grubby little hooves in the jar, funneling money into their futures. When surprise, an exceptionally handsome police officer and his quick-witted partner blow the case open. Bellwether goes to jail. The lynchpin of their little plan, locked away. Their plan itself? In ruin.”

 

The ocelot interrupted him. “How is the rabbit? Officer Hopps?”

 

“Already up and walking,” Nick lied with his best hustler face on tight.

 

Raymond made a small show of looking impressed, before saying, “Perhaps I should have clamped down a little harder on her throat. Perhaps I should have used my free paw for something a little more painful and surgical, other than restraining her.”

 

Outwardly, Nick was a blank slate. Inwardly, he had the terrifyingly opportune idea and mental image of getting up from his chair, propping his chair against the interrogation door handle, removing the muzzle off the ocelot, and raking his talons all the way around and across Raymond’s face.

 

Nick quickly shuffled more bank statements in front of the ocelot, desperate to remove the violent impulse from his mind.

 

“Now, here is where it get’s interesting. Once their plan essentially failed, all of the mammals had more than just a sunk cost problem. The money they used to finance this little operation? Came with interest. A lot of interest. You see, no bank or credit union in the world would dare openly finance such an operation like this. Illegal damn near everywhere you go. But there are other vectors to consider when taking out a loan, aren’t I right, spots? And those ‘other vectors’? They want quick and timely returns on their investments.

 

“And so all started to pay, since I’m sure defaulting on these ‘loans’ would mean going to sleep and never waking up again. Or worse. Of course, with the interest being illegally high, all of the mammal’s bank accounts were bled dry very quickly. You know that Feldman, Walton, and DuLarge had all resorted to selling their physical assets? Not that it would have helped.

 

“But in the end, it wasn’t enough, because in this terrible game with such terrible mammals, there’s never enough. So whomever lent them the money, realizing all were just about out of blood and nothing more then dead ends, sent their collection agent.”

 

Nick fingered towards the ocelot, their eyes locked and unblinking.

 

“You’re no serial killer, Strauss,” Nick rose from his chair and hissed at the ocelot. “You’re just a contract killer hired to clean up Dawn Bellwether’s loose ends. Part of her little house of cards plot to seize control of this city, enslave part of it’s population, and no doubt profit from it with some of her old pals.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, to let it all sink in.

 

The ocelot did not even flinch in Wilde’s delivery of the accurate accusation.

 

“So,” Nick continued, “is there anything you’d like to add, spots? Want to tell us what bank you use? Address? Maybe even your employer? If not, no big. The way you stand now, you’ll certainly never see the outside of a cell again. But telling us who loaned out the money may cause the judge to take pity on you and maybe once a year you’ll get to go outside for a few minutes. Smell the roses. Hear the birds.”

 

Silence. Raymond did not break eye contact with Nick.

 

“Suite yourself. We’ll find it all out eventually. I promise you that.”

 

The ocelot then spoke. “I want to see the pictures of their bodies again, please.”

 

Nick hesitated for a moment. Then repositioned the requested material in front of the ocelot. While he packed back the mountain of evidence back into the case file, Nick never took his eyes off the ocelot.

 

The hitman looked at each photo for a few seconds, before moving on to examine the next. When he went through the entire line, the ocelot did a quick rerun through of examining each photo . . .

 

And briefly smiled. Nick caught it, and it sent his stomach down into his pelvis.

 

Raymond Strauss looked back into Nick Wilde’s eyes, and Wilde felt the fight or flight instinct kick on in his head. The look the ocelot gave him made his claws come out without any conscious thought.

 

“Poison, drowning, claw, or knife. So many ways to take a life.” The ocelot leaned back in his chair, a proud smile glinting behind his muzzle.

 

~

 

Back in the hospital, Judy Hopps was briefly up and walking around the hospital (bunnies can bounce back quickly, if not only briefly, and Judy Hopps was a walking testament of the fact). She had still not been released by the doctor’s admission and was trailed dutifully by Wolford. The reason for her activity was in response to a commotion a few doors down from her. A pack of wolves were arguing with a doctor, a wildebeest with grey hair and rounded glasses.

 

When the screaming and yelling began, the rabbit whistled, grabbing all’s attention, and held up her badge. Wolford sighed lightly (this bunny will die being a cop) and also held up his badge. The pack went silent, as did the doctor, and all eyes went to the officers.

 

“What’s going on?” Judy addressed, her voice still raspy and quiet.

 

Immediately, a young wolf approached her, dropping to his knees almost out of habit of seeing small mammals like rabbits back away from an approaching predator. In the first few words, Judy could physically feel the worry and stress in his voice.

 

Just like when Nick was by her side only a few hours ago.

 

“Please,” the wolf practically whispered to her, although by the time he was finished, he was screaming. “Please, my girlfriend keeps asking for the police, says she has done something terrible and this is karma paying her back and the doctors are saying she was poisoned because she is so sick and I don’t know what to do I can see her wasting away in there and the doctors keep saying there’s nothing they can do!”

 

The wolf stopped when the rabbit officer took his paws in hers.

 

“Then I will speak with her and with the doctor. I will call for you if I need you, okay?” The stability behind her words got a reaction out of him as well as his attention, the wolf nodding his head.

 

Judy addressed the physician as the pack moved down the hall, patting and comforting the near hysterical member of their family.

 

“You think she was poisoned, doctor?”

 

The wildebeest looked down the hall at the back, and leaned in to whisper his answer. “I _know_ she was poisoned officer. We found what is well beyond the lethal dose of amanita bisporigera, a mushroom with its common name being –“

 

Judy recognized the scientific name, and instantly recalled the mushroom. Her one brother, Timothy Hopps, who majored in plant husbandry with a concentration in plant toxicology, would often recite facts he found of interest to his sister. A few stuck with her, how odd facts just tend to naturally stick to the brain’s databanks, even if irrelevant. One mushroom he was particularly fascinated with was called –

 

“Destroying Angel,” Judy finished for the doctor, “One of the most toxic mushrooms in the world.” The wildebeest’s face widened at her accurate recall.

 

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he said with astonishment in his voice. “By our toxicologist’s estimate, she ate nearly seven full mushrooms. The lethal dose is equivalent to half a mushroom cap.”

 

“So how do you treat it,” Wolford asked, eyeing both nervously.

 

Judy didn’t answer, only closed her eyes. The doctor sighed, shaking his head. Judy could almost hear her brother’s voice over the doctor’s as he lectured them on the poison.

 

“There is no treatment for amatoxin, the poisonous compound the mushroom uses as self defense. There’s an extremely slim chance of stopping the lethal effects from occurring if urgent care is taken almost immediately after ingestion. But it’s so difficult to detect because symptoms do not appear for several hours, in some cases even a full twenty-four hours after ingestion.

 

“Right now, the toxins are actively shutting down her kidneys and liver, permanently turning off the RNA sequence chains that essentially promote the basic functions to maintain cellular life. The damage already done to her vital organs is beyond irreversible.”

 

The doctor paused for a moment. “The least we can do is make it painless for her.”

 

Something was spinning in Judy’s mind. Something awful and sickly was turning in her belly. Something that was similar, and not so similar, to monk’s hood.

 

“May I speak to her?” she asked the doctor. He nodded, deftly including, “I’ll keep the pack away for the time being.”

 

Judy thanked him, and she and Wolford entered the room.

 

The room smelled like death soon arriving. The mammal in question, a giraffe, was as pale as a sheet, her eyes sunk deep into her skull. The veins stood out as physically far from her neck as possible, as if trying to escape the poisoning they were being subjected to.

 

The giraffe looked at the rabbit, and her lips tried to twitch into a smile.

 

“And my sins come full circle. Karma sends you, Officer Hopps, of all mammals to collect. Good. I can finally get this off my chest. Danielle O’Hearst, by the way.” The giraffe tilted her head to the seat next to the bed, the one that smelled so strongly of the wolf that knelt in front of Judy.

 

Judy knew. The giraffe knew. Sometimes, mammals just have a funny way of instantly knowing.

 

And so the rabbit sat down, her heart and stomach pulling impossibly low into her body, took the notepad extended from Wolford’s paw, and began writing.

 

And Danielle O’Hearst got off her chest what she wouldn’t have dared to breathe about otherwise, wouldn’t have dared to admit to anyone else under any other circumstance.

 

Under this circumstance only, perhaps even with just this rabbit, Danielle O’Hearst confessed to her involvement in funding and supporting the TAME collar factory and implementation plan.

 

At the end, all Judy asked was, “Whom did you all borrow the money from?”

 

Danielle nodded, and told her the mammal’s name and where he was located. Judy tore that page off the notebook and handed it to Wolford, who left to go phone it in.

 

“What changed,” Judy asked Danielle.

 

Silence. Then, “After bellwether was sent to prison, I fell into an all time low. I knew what was coming, but I also knew the police and the public would want to throw me away for decades, if not life in prison, right alongside Dawn. Being locked in a cage, where the guards are all primarily predators? I at the time thought death was a more noble option. It all became too much. My mind almost collapsed. I started thinking long and hard about it. About why I was so goddamn angry from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep. Even in my dreams, I was just angry and afraid.

 

“And then, a certain mammal walked into my life. Shane Richardson. And, by default, his pack.” Danielle seemed to think for a moment, mind lost elsewhere.

 

“He, and I guess they, changed my life. Changed me. Taught me that my anger was just a symptom of my fear, and that my fear was unfounded.” The giraffe looked at Judy, who held her dying stare. “Say what you want about me, Officer. I am aware of the wrong I have done, what I was apart of and was almost a part of. I take responsibility for it. I do. I think it is _just_ that this is how it played out.”

 

What Danielle O’Hearst said next to Judy was spliced with conscious fragments, popping in and out of consciousness for the rabbit.

 

“But mammals can change.”

 

_A criminal conman to a police officer. A rabbit believing fox’s are killers._

 

“Our relationships can change.”

 

_You know you love me_

 

“We can coexist.”

 

_Yes, yes I do._

 

“Mammals are _capable_ of change. And sometimes, that change is needed. Sometimes, it is so just.”

 

A wolf and a giraffe. A rabbit and a fox. A city. The world.

 

Judy Hopps stood up, asking if there was anything else.

 

“No, that is all, thank you,” Danielle practically exhaled.

 

“Then I’ll send Shane and his pack back in.”

 

Judy heard Danielle swallow, and turned back to see tears running down her face.

 

“I . . . I know I have no right to ask, no grounds to ask, but,” the rest came out as a quiet sob, barely restrained. “Please. Please, I want my last moments to be with him, to be happy with him. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as when I fell in love with Shane. I know it is selfish, but please, I want to at least die happy. Please, don’t tell him or his family any of this. At least not while I’m still breathing.

 

“I just want one moment in my whole life of actual happiness.”

 

Judy felt entirely numb from head to toe. Felt the exhaustion coming back strong, threatening to tear her down again. The rabbit nodded, as did Wolford, and both walked out. Judy heard the wolves’ claws on the linoleum as they all came back down the hallway, back to their giraffe.

 

Heard one wolf, sobbing as he cradled his dying partner.

 

Walking back to her bed, Wolford quietly at her side, Judy hugged herself, waiting and willing for her fox to come back to her.

 

~

 

Nick Wilde entered back into the observation room attached to the interrogation room. He noticed one particular mammal’s absence.

 

“Where’s the Captain?” he asked the cape buffalo, who was currently seething, staring at the ocelot through the one way glass.

 

“Hopps just found the last name on that club the conspirators were all apart of,” Bogo breathed, “slowly dying in the same hospital as her. Your killer has collected all but Dawn herself.”

 

Nick stared at the buffalo, mouth slightly agape. He wanted to scream, wanted to runs his claws across something he could destroy and maim and make as ugly and defeated as he was feeling. Raymond would have more than sufficed, but he knew that option was entirely implausible.

 

“He won’t talk,” Nick finally started, exhaling, looking at their query. “He’s from way down south. They’ve got that unbreakable, inherent honor code that’s practically engrained into their DNA. He won’t talk about where they were getting the money from, since it’s clear it wasn’t any legal financial institution.”

 

“Danielle O’Hearst gave up the money broker’s name to Hopps. Likely isn’t the actual source of the funds; most definitely is the mammal who was laundering it. Ashmore and the TUSK unit are going to apprehend him now.”

 

“Oh,” Nick said, somewhat surprised but too tired to really feel any joy in the revelation.

 

Both resumed staring at the ocelot, who stared right back at the glass, eyes unflinching.

 

After a small while, Bogo said to Nick, “Wilde. Go see Hopps. Send Wolford and Fangmeyer back here. Both of you, take till the weekend. I don’t want to see either of you until next Monday. I am understood?”

 

“Yes sir,” Nick said, turning to leave, before the Chief caught him one more time.

 

“And tell Hopps for me. Congratulations to both of you for making Detective. I’ll brief you both Monday.”

 

“Thank you, sir. We’ll see you then.” The fox shut the door behind him.

 

The cape buffalo was left alone, staring at the killer sitting in the interrogation room. Without warning, without any wind up, The Chief’s temper exploded, and he easily punched a sizeable crater into the wall to his left.

 

Inside the interrogation room, the ocelot jumped in his chair at the sudden and powerful sounding _THUMP_ that reverberated through the room.

 

On the other side of the glass, the Chief snorted once and grinned.

 

~

 

In the hospital, a fox leaned over and laid his head on the lap of a rabbit. They had just finished filling each other in since they last saw each other. What seemed to be an entire year’s worth of events in the space of one night. For Nick, seeing Judy’s smile at having made detective was more rewarding then him actually receiving the rank. Of course, it still was great. But she was so much greater.

 

They sat in the silence of her room.

 

A few rooms over, there was a wolf sobbing and wailing.

 

A tiny grey paw smoothed over his own. “Hey slick. You and I need to talk.” She said it with such conviction and no explanation, yet he immediately understood what they would cover. They did have a lot to talk about. Things that needed discussion. Parts of them that they needed to share with each other.

 

“Yeah. We do,” he agreed.

 

A pause in their conversation.

 

“But not now,” Judy quickly followed up.

 

“Oh Christ in Heaven no, not now,” Nick agreed, shutting his eyes and smiling.

 

“Yeah, I’m fuckin exhausted,” Judy chuckled. Hearing his partner say any connotation of ‘fuck’ always got a rise out of Nick, and he let himself laugh at her statement.

 

“Makes two of us,” Nick said, lifting his head to face her.

 

The sat in silence again. Nick shifted his body, eliciting another request from his partner.

 

“Nick?” He locked his eyes with hers, and felt his heart warm and melt. She could ask him to go jump off a bridge and he’d do it grinning like a fool that just made Detective.

 

“Judy?”

 

Now, both of her small paws found their way to his muzzle, which began petting and stroking the fur on his face.

 

“Can you stay here with me tonight?”

 

His answer was instant, a natural reflex. “Wasn’t planning on leaving, Judy.” The happy and relaxed smile was her answer.

 

They sat, once more, in the comfortable bubble of each other’s company, Judy stroking the fur on his muzzle, Nick relishing in the attention.

 

Before the dark wave of sleep overcame her, Danielle O’Hearst’s dying words echoed around in Judy’s mind.

 

_Mammals are capable of change. And sometimes, that change is needed._

_Sometimes, it is so just._

 

~

 

It was now dusk.

 

Captain Ashmore, dawning a large peacoat and carrying a loaded FN Five-Seven handgun, chambering it’s namesake round, approached up the driveway of a well kept and relatively isolated home on the fringes past the city limits.

 

Behind him were several members of the TUSK tactical unit, all carrying special operations gear and automatic rifles, aiming at the windows of the house.

 

Ashmore didn’t bother knocking. Or shouting that he had a warrant. The warrant detail could come later. Instead, without checking to see if the door was locked, he raised one lithe leg and deftly kicked in the front door.

 

TUSK swarmed the house. It was quiet, save for the breathing and grunts. Ashmore followed in last, keeping his aim.

 

They all instantly smelled the gore.

 

The unit cleared the house, and found the broker in his study. Ashmore was instantly thankful Hopps and Wilde and not been the ones to discover him. It would have forever and permanently spoiled their first case as acting detectives.

 

The broker who laundered and lent the money to the conspirators, a white tailed deer named Saul Copeland, sat in his expensive office chair in a macabre display.

 

Saul had been completely and wholly skinned, his limbs positioned and aligned with the arms and legs of his chair, his limbs impaled by large, black metal poles. He looked like an insect riddled with pins, being set behind glass in display. Blood pooled around him and under the desk. His horns had been removed and seemed to be missing along with his skin, and on his desk, an open book containing famous Latin quotes and sayings. His tongue, having been pulled and cut from his throat, was laid on top of a page like a bookmark, the tip pointing to the phrase: oratio est argento; silentium est aurum.

 

Translated: Speech is silver; silence is golden.

 

In front of the book on the desk, furthest away from the dead deer, was a small white business card, smelling strongly of myrrh. Laid around it like a loose frame, a thinly cut spool of red ribbon. The card read:

 

LEAVE IT ALONE

 

C.C.

 

The cheetah stared at the scene, slightly shaking his head. “Corporal,” he addressed the one boar, “carefully pull your team out, and call CSI. This is now a Major Crimes case. Keep it quiet, as little radio chatter as possible. No lights.”

 

The corporal grunted, his way of agreeing, and left Ashmore with the horror scene before him.

 

He pinched his eyebrows together, trying to fight off the encroaching headache. Trying to control the knot of dread growing in his gut.

 

“Oh dear,” he whispered. “Oh God.”

 

The sun rose, its golden light beginning to shine through the study windows, bringing the horrors to light once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY GOD. Over 12,000 words for all of part 10 combined. I need an aspirin. And a beer.
> 
> And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Ars Moriendi concluded. 
> 
> First and foremost, i thank everyone that has given my first completed story a read, kudos, and comments. You have no idea how much it all means to me, truly. I hope this doesn't come off as scripted, since i am so thankful to have been on this awesome ride with you lot. Honestly, thank you all a million. This has fully reinvigorated my love of story crafting and of writing. So thank you again for giving me and my story a shot. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Next, i would love to hear your words about this chapter and on the whole story, too! Tell me what you loved, where i could improve, etc. TELL ME EVERYTHING! Don't be shy!! Important disclaimer about a major plot detail: i was going to put in the discovery of the TAME collar factory back at the end of chapter's 7 or 8, but i knew that everyone one of you smart cookies would've instantly connected the dots and figured out the rest of the plot and that would have honestly ruined the mystery of it. Sorry if it felt shoehorned in, but i thought it was truly the best and only way to tell this story. 
> 
> Lastly, yes, there will be a follow up interlude focusing almost entirely on the relationship between Nick and Judy, since that is loooooong overdue. And after that, the next major installment in the Omnibus! That's gonna be a rollercoaster, let me tell you. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, again. I can't stress enough about how much it means to me as an author. Thank you. 
> 
> Till i hear from you next or till you hear from me,  
> Twocent

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment! I wholly welcome any criticisms. Apologies for any grammatical (or worse) errors within.


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